


Alliances

by TaangyChocolate



Category: Batman (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics), Teen Titans - All Media Types
Genre: Azarath, Blood, Crime Fighting, Esperanto, F/F, Gotham, Medieval AU, Muteness, a writer who hates slow burns is gonna write an impatient burn, injuries, translations within the story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-05-19 10:24:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 55,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14871977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaangyChocolate/pseuds/TaangyChocolate
Summary: When Gotham is plagued by more and more criminals, King Wayne makes a pact with Azarath, acquiring the help of their finest healer, Raven. But raids and pillaging are rarely done for nothing. Under the threats of a looming evil, magic, and the discovery of electricity, a quest for the continent begins...





	1. Putting Everything in Place

Slade confidently stalked into the pub, his nose scrunching at the disgustingly thick stench of garlic that assaulted his senses. He didn’t let the odor deter him; instead, his shoulders squared and he snuck past the seedy degenerates that swarmed the pub, avoiding their spit and sloshed drinks. 

He felt the stare of one man in particular and turned, meeting the red gaze of his associate. Slade smirked, the movement wrinkling his scarred eye, and strode to the massive man’s table, sitting down immediately. Slade held up a hand, three puckered scars marring the skin, and beckoned the bartender. The aproned man grunted and spat on the floor, picking up a mug of mead and placing the dirty glass in front of him. 

Slade bowed his pitcher in greeting, “Trigon.” 

The man snorted, sounding like an annoyed stallion, “Slade.” He downed his cup of whiskey, completely unphased by the burning, and leaned in, his voice lowering as Slade mimicked his stance. “You said you can be of service to me; what is your price?” 

Slade fiddled with the butt of the knife concealed within his tunic, observing Trigon’s face. A sly smirk began to grow on his lips and he leaned on the back of his chair, crossing his arms at the taller man, “Never thought I’d see the day when Trigon is desperate for help.” A humorless laugh preceded another gulp of the nearly spoiled mead. Slade yanked a clumsily stitched rag from a passing drunk’s tunic and wiped his mouth, “It depends on what you need me to do.” 

“Gotham.” 

An eyebrow peaked over the horrifically stitched crater where Slade’s left eye used to be. He clicked his tongue and closed his hand into a fist, individually cracking the knuckles. Trigon paid his fake theatrics no mind, continuing, “Those pests, the hooded vigilantes that protect the region from my men. I need them to hurt.” 

Slade tilted his chin thoughtfully, “You want them all killed?” 

Trigon shook his head, “No. Just injured enough to need a healer nearby.” 

“You do realize the vigilantes are King Wayne and his children? Killing them up certainly won’t take _that_ much effort.” 

The massive man glared, his shoulders widening menacingly, “Remember your place, _Wilson_.” The muscles in his jaw coiled and Slade tensed, feeling the stares of the drunken brutes fall onto him. The one-eyed man bit back a comment at how the stench of garlic strengthened and held up his palms, laying one of his daggers on the table. Trigon harrumphed as he settled back down, downing the rest of Slade’s mead. The brutes kept staring. 

“It would do you best to not think, let alone speak, on your perceptions of my intelligence.” 

Slade bowed his head, his teeth grinding. He didn’t bother responding to Trigon’s jibe, instead considering his options. He looked up, a devious look in his eye, “I know a man who is very familiar with Gotham.” 

“Let me guess, the mad circus entertainer? With the mindless freaks that follow him?” 

Gloved hands ran through his graying hair, “People call him the Jester. Been a thorn in Gotham’s side for over a decade. He’ll know what to do when I tell him.” 

Trigon considered his words before unceremoniously dropping a bag of gold coins on the table. Slade kept his face blank, feeling the hungry, desperate glances that the drunks aimed towards him and placed his hand on his knife again. The red eyed man smirked and stood, re-adjusting the blood-stained belt over his tunic, “Do not disappoint me, Slade. My men will be in touch after you’ve finished.” 

He tilted his chin to the rest of the pub, a humorless grin stretching his face, “Drunk or not, give him a challenge, won’t you?” 

Trigon casually strode out the back and Slade watched him go, stuffing the coins into his bag and standing. A drunk marched up to him, the dull glint of his drop point and his unsteady steps unintimidating. Slade shoved past him, pushing his body into the sharp edge of the table. 

The rest of the patrons watched them, none bothering to warn the assassin as the drunk aimed a punch to the back of his head. Slade dodged and countered with a quick hit, his knife gliding through the tunic and pushing through the drunk’s ribs. He quickly spun out of the move as the man slumped against him, wiping the blood off on the injured one’s hair, paying no mind to his anguished gasps as he coughed up blood. 

Slade kept his knife brandished as he walked out, smirking as no one else tried to challenge him. He glanced at the moon and slid into the shadows of the forest, smirking as the darkness cloaked him. With the coins concealed and his knives counted, he saddled his steer, setting out for Eastern Gotham. 

\--

The crescent moon hung in the sky, its presence steadfast as the clouds lazily sauntered in front of it. Bathed in the light of the orb was the nation of Azarath, one of its seven cardinal Temples, and the organized cluster of removable cottages. In the trailing end of spring they now surrounded themselves in the bountiful yields of their winter crops and endeavors of husbandry; fresh herbs, medicinal flowers, and incense sticks decorated the buildings while the few flocks lay in the grass and slept as the herd grazed. Even despite the chilled night air, birds cooed and fluffed their feathers within their nests, all perched throughout the community. The quiet hum of magic lulled them to complacent sleep, save for the ones tipped off to a familiar intruder. 

Identified by the smooth pyrope gem embedded in between her temples, a woman crept along the monastery’s cottages, her fingertips brushing the smooth script that decorated them. She entered through the back, hidden by the shadows, and leaned her ear against the simple drapery of her mother’s cottage, listening to the hushed conversation within. 

_“Arella, have you heard the latest news from Gotham?”_

_“There has been more information since our last negotiations? It was only half a moon ago.”_

_“Yes, apparently Trigon’s men have taken to helping the Jester. King Wayne himself was nearly bled out half a moon ago, and his children are faring no better.”_

The nervous rub of hands followed by a shaky breath in, _“Will war break out?”_

 _“Potentially. For now Trigon seems complacent in gathering up support and resources. But King Wayne is being stretched thin to adequately protect Gotham.”_ A pause, _“King Wayne is considering a marriage between Jason and princess Koriand’r of Tamaran.”_

_“If Tamaran is occupied with Gotham… If they take even a squadron away from Azarath we’ll be too vulnerable.”_

_“Arella…”_

_“Trigon has pirates. He will not hesitate to attack us again.”_

_“Then what shall we do?”_

A sigh. The heavy sound of a palm running over a face, _“Then the conditions of our latest negotiation still stand. I sent word to King Wayne a quarter moon ago. His men are set to arrive by dawn. With our past, I am sure that some will volunteer to stay until the official units are sent.”_

_“Are you truly sure of this, Arella? You must realize how helpless the move will leave us if she is killed in Gotham. Trigon will capitalize immediately. Is there no other way?”_

_“I am certain this is the right choice.”_

Amethyst eyes widened and the woman quickly moved away, tiptoeing so quietly and moving her slinky body amongst the shadows so effortlessly that one would think she were floating over the ground rather than scurrying like a guilty child. Entering her chambers she removed her cloak, revealing that while she was an adult, she was young, just a few years grown completely out of her girlhood, and that her eyes shone a brilliant purple.

She bent at the waist, pulling off her boots and quickly shimmying the decorative bracelets along her wrists and ankles; the flash of the bracelets she adorned were magnificent although the bands were brittle, crafted out of clear, flexible glass. She flexed her fingers, comforted at the black rings that sat upon her middle fingers. The contrast was bold against her skin, pale as it was. Sitting down and crossing her legs, the young woman straightened her back and balanced her hands on her kneecaps in meditation. She sought to clear her mind of the information she had overheard and listened as the quiet muffled conversation slowly made its way towards her chambers. 

The tarp entrance was moved aside and a woman entered. She was nearing the middle of her life: her dark hair was tinged with sparse gray strands, her skin a pale cream, and her tired eyes filled to the brim with sorrow and tears. The young woman squeezed her eyes tighter and smoothed any emotion from her face as the other knelt in front of her. 

A soft anguished sound escaped trembling lips and Arella smiled sadly as the younger of the two finally opened her eyes. Leaning forward, the matriarch placed a soft kiss on the precious stone that decorated the pale forehead. She cupped her daughter’s face, quietly admiring the wide eyes, thick brows, and sharp nose that greeted her; as her own charcoal eyes stared into her daughter’s violet irises, the elder couldn’t help but feel a vice around her heart. 

She knew that Raven knew of her fate just as she knew that this would probably be the last time she saw her precocious child with her very eyes. Arella untucked her daughter’s headscarf, revealing the braid, its strands the color of mulberry wine, the covering hid. Sighing in resignation the mother felt her eyes begin to water as the impossibility of their situation settled in. 

She grasped her Raven’s hands, shutting her eyes and resting her forehead against her daughter’s, feeling the push of the jewel against her brow. “My daughter,” she whispered, allowing some tears to slide down her cheeks, “My Raven, my Raven, my Raven.”

Bringing their hands up to her face, Raven pressed a kiss onto her mother’s knuckles, silent in the ringing of the night. She swallowed as her stomach twisted painfully but stayed expressionless. The sorceress felt as her mother sat up straight and mimicked the position as they stared at each other. 

Breathing in, Arella spoke, “You know that we are not marrying you off, young one. Although, you are the age that I was when I bore you.” Smiling nostalgically, Arella chuckled a bit; the sight heartbreaking not in its emotion but in its rarity. The stoic thought of the last time she had heard her mother’s laugh and could only think of muddy memories, disoriented from the passage of time.

“You shall become a personal healer of King Wayne and his family. Raven, you already are aware of the situation regarding Gotham, correct?” At the heavy nod, Arella continued, “Then you know of how dire our position is. If Trigon were to even attempt to invade…” 

Raven finished, “They’ll immediately go for the ports and coasts. And if they fail then Tamaran and Gotham will both enforce a strict border and we shall either be stuck within the forest or pushed out to the islands. Any alliance within the mainland will be temporarily severed.” Voice heavy, Raven stole a glance at her mother’s face and squared her shoulders, “Azarath has no chance of surviving if our allies cannot protect us. I shall leave with King Wayne’s men at dawn.”

The matriarch trembled at the conviction in her daughter’s words and wrapped her arms around the mystic. Pressing her lips to her temple Arella squeezed her child, the rattling in her chest echoed in her breathing as she choked out short breaths. Silent and pensive, Raven leaned her weight against her mother, bringing their joined hands up to the matriarch’s mouth as she began to cough. Removing her hands, she held the ends of her scarf to her mother’s lips, frowning in concern as the thin cloth soaked up the blood. 

Moving her center of balance, the mage pulled her parent into her arms, apprehension apparent as the hacking coughs rattled her frame. Frail and fragile, her mother was becoming weaker and weaker each dawn: her irregular heartbeat, her required wrist bleedings each half moon, her bloody coughs, her reliance on a walking rod to stay upright, her inability to stay standing for more than an hour at a time. Healings and spells and enchantments all failed, and all would undoubtedly continue to fail.

Raven wasn’t naive enough to deny that her mother’s health would give out soon. With her own inexperience in ruling as a matriarch paired with the conflict of her training by Azar, the nomadic kingdom would need as much protection as it could receive; so, when the escort of twenty Gotham soldiers and twenty one horses arrived the next dawn, the sorceress, true to her word, had already packed her talismans, spell books, and potions and was waiting for them without any fuss. 

Once situated atop a mare she grabbed the reins, allowing herself one last look at her home, wide eyes observing all the carpeted structures, trailing wisps of incense smoke, snug clusters of nests, and lounging piles of herded animals. Most of the community was still asleep, although all the elders and monks were undoubtedly watching from within their chambers, hidden within the misty morning. Arella and Azar would surely be among them. 

Raven kissed the inside of her wrist, murmuring “Por mia patrujo Azarath, hejmo de Mentrion kaj Zinthos.” against the skin. She nodded at the men who decided to stay, squared her shoulders and turned her gaze eastward, towards Gotham. _For my motherland Azarath, home of Mentrion and Zinthos._

They set off. Raven didn’t dare look back. 

Three quarters of a day later they galloped through the outskirts of Gotham. The mage was able to contain her gasp, but couldn’t keep the wonder off her face as she took in the city. Intricate statues and gargoyles lined the arches, acting as borders between the guilds and homes. The end of the sunset was bright and colorful, the fading rays of light blocked some by the dreary clouds and tall buildings, but it couldn’t take away from the city’s brilliance. Raven stared at the structures, astounded at the architectural feat. The Seven Temples of Azarath had tall ceilings, but every cottage within the village was comprised of one level to make traveling easier; in Gotham, two level buildings were so common along the guilds that even some _houses_ bared the trait. Nearly a mark was spent traversing to Wayne Manor, the heart of Gotham.

Her mare whined as she was led past the massive walls that surrounded the Manor. Raven’s eyes widened in awe as she took in the incredible sight of four colossal buildings, intersected by a _four level_ tower, if its amount of windows were correct. 

She straightened her posture as a figure came into view, a smile sliding onto her lips as she recognized the man. Standing as distinguished as ever, Sir Alfred bowed his head and offered his hand to her as the mare stopped in front of him. “Sir Alfred!” Raven didn’t bother to hide the fondness in her voice as she stepped down and took his arm, hiding her hug from the soldiers. 

“Miss Raven,” The retired knight’s tone was warm as he set about overseeing the servants take her bags and chests. He began to lead her into the Manor, the pathway still illuminated by candlelight. 

“You’ll have to excuse King Wayne and his children,” Alfred apologized, “But they leave once the sun starts to set.” His gray eyes looked over the small bag that hung off her hip and the wrapped book that she clutched to her chest. “They usually return a mark before the sunrise, although they arrivals will be spread out.” He hummed in thought, “Expect them no later than breakfast.”

The mage nodded at his words, looking up to his face, “As long as I have access to boiling water I can heal them.” 

The man nodded, an eyebrow raised as she continued, “However, I will need a garden.” Her shoulders jumped and threatened to curl in on themselves as she hastened to add, “A small one, if there is room. My herbs don’t need too much light or space, but I have the feeling that your wards will certainly go through them quickly.” 

Alfred chuckled in agreement at that, opening a door and leading her up a flight of stairs.

Raven dropped Alfred’s arm, one hand lifting her skirts while the other hesitantly held onto the rail as she ascended, looking down at the steps as she went. “Sir Alfred?” She questioned, her curiosity spiking his own, “How many levels does the Manor have?” 

“Three, my dear.” He turned to look at her as the stairs ended and they turned another corner, walking along a hallway, “The observation tower has four and the library has two.” 

“ _Oh, Azar._ ” She let her skirts drop and took his arm again, not bothering to hide the lilt in her voice, “That is extremely impressive. The Temples’ don’t even have such height to them.” The man smiled at that, but didn’t say a word. Her mauve eyes glanced out the window, pupils widening as she took in the shadowed courtyards. 

Alfred stopped outside of a room and took out a key, unlocking the door and handing the silver trinket to her as he held the door open. He let her explore as he motioned for the servants to put her bags on the bed and her chests on the floor. Raven thinly smiled at them, fiddling with the rings that adorned her fingers. “Thank you all for your hospitality,” Her gaze quickly flicked to the window and back to them, “Especially at this time of night. You’ve all been very kind.” 

The old man smoothed his mustache, ushering the servants out the door, “Anytime, Miss Raven. I shall have someone knock on your door before my King and wards arrive.”

The mage smiled at him, moving to unpack her chests of salves, “Thank you, Alfred. Goodnight.” 

Alfred closed the door and she sighed, sitting on the soft downy covers. The woman rolled her shoulders and started to stretch, finally feeling the effects of nearly a day of nonstop travel. 

A few marks into the night Raven lied in her bed, still wide awake. She tossed and turned until she settled on her side, her hand clutched at her stomach. Cursing the butterflies that wrestled in her abdomen, she rose, grabbing a light cloak. At the door she paused, turned around, and grabbed her bag, stuffing a blend of tea and some honey inside. Tucking her key in her headscarf, she tiptoed her way down the stairs and along the hallway. She tried to distract herself with observing the art but couldn’t work up any enthusiasm. A heavy sigh escaped as the weight of reality settled in, her footsteps leading her outside to the main courtyard. 

She paid no mind to the feeling of grass along her bare feet, instead allowing her thoughts to dwell on the people she would be living with. While her previous interactions with some of the Wayne Clan would allow for her to be complacent in their home, she also was incredibly nervous. As a child, she had watched Mother and Azar negotiate with King Wayne from afar and had had brief conversations with Richard, Jason and Alfred during that time. She was present at Lady Selina’s death and aware of King Wayne’s second wife, the Arabian princess Talia, but beyond that?

She didn’t know anyone else. 

Although she was determined to exceed in her role as their healer, her mind was abuzz, weary from the past day. The emotions that surrounded Gotham, particularly the Eastern edge, battered havoc against her empathy. The routine tread that every servant, soldier, and knight walked with through the Manor’s walls intimidated her. The knowledge that her mother would probably succumb to her illness before the mage could visit again threatened to drown her in sorrow. The insecurity that in their matured age the Wayne Clan would find her bothersome and abandon her, and therefore Azarath, without any allies froze her feet to the ground. 

Still, she refused to allow her fears to hinder her. She would meditate and, once centered, would tackle every problem like she always did: in stride and to the absolute best of her ability.

Raven eventually found a spot not a child’s stride away from a patch of rosemary. She sat, crossed her legs, closed her eyes, and breathed. Softly, reverently, the names of _home_ echoed through her mind and she chanted them, her voice low in the night air, “Azarath. Mentrion. Zinthos.” 

For nearly two marks she sat there, her chants weakening until they were silently slipping off her lips. Occasionally a bug landed on her to rest. A bird shyly approached her and perched on her kneecap, its beady eyes observing the nearly imperceptible rise and fall of her chest. 

A rustle sounded in the windless night and the bird floundered, its wings brushing her face as it flew off. Pulled out of her meditation, Raven turned only to be tackled, a blade pressed to her neck. She squeaked as they toppled end over end, her hand blindly driving out to strike her attacker’s throat. He gasped and she stumbled up, her hands clasped to her chest. At the sight of the gold band on his bicep she dropped to his side, flustered. “Prin-- my Prince! I am so sorry!” She quickly grabbed her bag of tea and opened the sieve, picking out the peppermint leaves. “Here, this will sooth the burn,” The apothecary rubbed the plant just above his Adam’s apple, her thumb smoothly rubbing circles on his temples. 

The man’s coughs relented and he warily gazed up at her, his glare enough to freeze ice despite his age, “Tell me who you are.” 

She bowed her head, “I am Raven, the High Priestess of Azarath. I was sent to assume the role of the Manor’s healer, at King Wayne’s suggestion.” 

Her fingers fiddled with her rings as he nodded, shakily getting to his feet. He was younger than her and she assumed he was Timothy. Still, he was taller, her eyes barely level with his nose. She noticed the blood staining a portion of her cloak and stared at the young man, eyes widening at the still flowing blood leaking from his leg. 

“You are injured,” She kneeled down and tore her skirt, tightly wrapping the wound. The mage grabbed her box of tea and touched his arm, “I must go get my herbs. Go to the kitchen and I will be there in a minute.” He seemed surprised at her ordering him around, if his eyebrows jumping indicated anything, but he nodded regardless.

She tried to be quiet as she all but ran up the stairs then plodded down them, one of her chests cradled in her arms. When she returned, Timothy was not alone in the kitchen; a boy, also covered in blood, was leaning against the table. He drew his blade as she entered but she paid him no mind, instead filling the kettle and setting down her supplies. 

As she threaded her needle, she bowed her chin to the boy, “I assume you are Prince Damian?” Without waiting for him to respond she introduced herself, “I am Raven, the healer from Azarath.”

With a practiced hand, she removed her blood-soaked skirt and wiped Timothy’s leg clean, nodding to herself when she saw the clot. Standing, she quickly prepared them both a cup of tea, adding extra peppermint for Timothy’s throat. 

Raven quietly sat on the floor, beginning to stitch the gash on the prince’s leg. He was bashful as he sipped his tea; a shyness that wasn’t needed, as Raven blamed her own impulsiveness for their mishap of an introduction. Upon learning that the mage was the one who injured him, Damian was quietly snickering at his brother, although his suspicious gaze on her lingered, critical of her abilities. 

“I assume since you are not bent over that none of your injuries are too severe?” 

“I don’t know why you expect me to tell you.” Damian crossed his arms, glaring at her. It did not show on his face, but he was at a loss when she glared back, “I am in no mood to argue with you, my Prince. Either tell me or go to bed with injuries, I still have the rest of your family to patch up.” 

His olive eyes widened almost comically and Timothy hid his grin behind a sip of tea, already a fan of this woman. 

Damian sneered a bit but ultimately sat down, finally taking his cup, “Some bruises along my ribs, a few cuts along my arms,” he grumbled. The woman nodded, tying off the stitches and reaching back into her chest. Her hands came out with a bottle of dried herbs and a tin of honey. She softly drizzled honey into her empty cup, adding the herbs and a sip’s worth of hot water. Raven stood and retrieved a spoon, softly pouring a thin layer of the concoction on the bandages. She tied it around Timothy’s leg, hearing his sigh when the pain subsided. He let her dab small specks of the salve on his remaining wounds, barely containing his surprise when Damian allowed her to do the same to him. 

Once both were comfortable, stretching their bodies as the salve alleviated their pain, Raven spoke, “Do you know when the others will be getting back?” She wiped her hands and set about pouring herself a cup, “Alfred said you all were sporadic with returning.”

As if waiting for her cue, a figure silently stepped through the door, narrowed eyes aimed at the Azarathian’s back. Damian paid her little mind and Timothy grinned at her, lazily tipping a pretend hat. Raven spun to look at her, jumping a bit in surprise. Ignoring the princes’ tittering, she clasped her hands and let her head drop an inch, “Princess Cassandra?” 

The noble nodded, her shoulders squaring in suspicion as Raven continued, “I am Raven. King Wayne requested my services from Azarath.” She took a step forward, “Any injuries?” 

Cassandra raised an eyebrow and then her arms, revealing the deep gashes on her sides and the slice traveling the curve of her hip. Raven sharply inhaled and ushered her to sit, quickly preparing more salve. She reached back into her chest, took a thin silver stake, and softly apologized, firmly rolling it against the other woman’s bloody, battered ribs. The princess tensed but stayed silent, breathing through her nose as the bleeding was forcibly stopped. 

Raven aimed a smile at her as she wrapped up her wounds, quickly finishing up as Richard appeared. He seemed stunned to see her, but then a laugh bubbled out of him and he engulfed her in a hug, lifting her up and spinning them both around, “I haven’t seen you in years!” 

The other three raised a brow at the humorous shake in Raven’s shoulders. She wriggled in his hug, cognizant of his visible injuries, “Richard,” she warned, although her tone was warm. The eldest prince let her go and held her shoulders, his boisterous laugh almost too perky for the early morning. Free to see all of him, she was pleased to notice that he only had a few scrapes. Still she pointed at the table, “Sit.” 

He did as she said, slumping into the chair next to Damian, ruffling his hair as he calmed down. The royal siblings watched as she made her way around the kitchen, her cloak giving her the appearance of flying. Cassandra leaned her chin on her palm, watching their healer curiously. Raven rummaged around her chest, taking out a few different vials, until the hanging ends of her headscarf started to bother her. The mage hesitated a moment, then unfastened the material, letting her long, messy braid cascade down her back. 

Cassandra’ eyes widened at the move and she quickly focused her stare on the table, fighting back a blush. She felt Damian look at her, his brows arched in confusion but she ignored him, busying herself with her tea. The princess stood, softly turning her torso from side to side as she set her cup down. Raven watched as she made shapes with her fingers, moving her hands with as much fluidity as someone mimicking a dance. Richard tiredly grinned at her in response, “Goodnight, then.” Cassandra met her curious gaze, stiffly nodded and was gone. 

Timothy noticed the sorceress’ confusion, “Cassandra doesn’t speak.” He lazily announced, leaning back and taking another sip of tea, his hand still rubbing the bandages on his leg. His cerulean eyes narrowed in thought after a beat, “I think she can actually,” He glanced at his brothers for clarification. When Damian offered nothing and Richard shrugged, he added, “She just doesn’t like to talk.” 

Raven hummed at that, the sound low in her throat. 

The youngest prince gave her a smug look, still hesitant to accept her new position in their lives, “Will that be too much for you?” 

Unperturbed, she picked up Richard’s wrist and made his hand slap Damian’s arm, not once actually looking up from the man’s wounds. Timothy laughed into his tea, his snickering not stopping even as Raven explained, “Many Azarathian monks take vows of silence for one reason or another. Communication with mutes has never been -- and will continue to not be -- an issue.” 

Wrapping a thin strip around Richard’s bicep, she straightened her back, quickly glancing over them. “I need to get some more herbs from my room,” She explained, already walking to the doorway, “If Jason or your father return, tell them I’ll be a minute.”

“Can you bring more tea?” Richard yelled after her, grinning when she held a finger over her lips, “Richard, the sun hasn’t even risen yet. People are still asleep.” 

Timothy took the chance to chime in, “He’s got a point. Your tea is almost as good as Alfred’s.” 

Richard looked scandalized at the comment and Raven hid her smile, turning away with a nod and disappearing in the hallway right after.


	2. Too Soon to Settle Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raven is introduced to life at Wayne Manor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teen & Up rating now for medieval cursing.

Alfred had come into the kitchen just after the sunrise and had clutched his chest, aghast at learning that Raven had brewed and served her own tea. He tutted and shooed her and his wards out, advising them to bathe while the cooks prepared breakfast. However, the older man did take the blend of tea leaves with the promise to deeply brew them before the princess and princes came back down. After bathing in the marvelous marble tub and dressing, the mage carefully made her way back to the kitchen, only to be intercepted by Timothy. 

He grinned at her, “Not the kitchen or Alfred'll have another fit. The Hall's this way,” She took his arm and they were off, stepping through huge, carved oak doors a minute later.

Raven, admittedly, was not nearly prepared enough for the extravagant affair that was a meal at Wayne Manor. To call the Dining Hall huge was an understatement, as it was held up by stone pillars and had a fresco atop The ceiling. On the table, a massive oval made from what must've been a dozen trees, sat a marvelous assortment of pastries, meats, and berries. The mage softly ran her fingertips along the porcelain tableware, unused to such elegance in nonreligious matters. 

Alfred had prepared a plate for all of them sans Jason and King Wayne, who had yet to arrive. The cooks had come out and praised her taste in tea, their chests puffing a tad when the healer complimented the bountiful spread they prepared. Sir Alfred had smoothy nudged them out as he brought out a honeycomb and knife, freshly cutting some honey for the biscuits. Raven sought to keep her face blank, a bit overwhelmed at the extravagance that was commonplace to the Waynes. 

A horse angrily neighed, the sound carrying over the Hall. Alfred stood and Raven looked up from her biscuit, her cheeks reddening as a man’s angry voice sounded from outside. 

“By God’s nails! Those pissing alley crawlers are relentless!” 

“ _Language_ , Jason.” 

“I’ll curse if I please, Bruce. They’re all mite-infested turd connoisseurs! Look at all this damned blood!”

The sound of fabric being ripped and a boot kicking a brick were followed by a tired sigh and the running thump of dainty footsteps, “Servantwoman, where is Alfred? We need stitching.”

The retired knight rolled his eyes as he strode over to the wooden doors. Raven rushed to the kitchen, grabbing some bandages, her now half-empty chest, and her vials. She looked at the chefs as she sped back to the hall, “I apologize for being rude, but I need you to boil a pot of water for me and bring it to the Hall immediately.”

Without waiting for their response she re-entered the building, her steps steady despite the men’s appearance. Covered in blood, grime, and sweat, the two had taken to leaning on Richard for balance as Cassandra wiped the filth from their eyes. 

The princess’ eyes brightened up and she moved to the side as Raven approached, softly pressing the silver to their wounds. King Wayne nodded at her but Jason furrowed his brows, taking in her face. 

“I know you,” He murmured, looking at the gem on her forehead, “The monk girl with the huge library.” 

Raven smiled softly, “I know you too. I’m Raven. From Azarath.” 

She turned as one of the cooks entered, carefully balancing a bowl of steaming water on the table. Pale hands ripped the bandages apart, quickly creating and smoothing the salve over them. King Wayne sighed as he sat, grunting when the mage wrapped the thin strips of cloth over his wounds. 

“Timothy, will you hand me the honey?” Raven quickly pressed a drop of it to the gash on the king’s forehead, ensuring that the blood was clotting properly. 

She glanced back at Jason, considering the slight turn of his ankle. Carefully removing his boot, she lifted the limb a few inches, turning it this way and that. Her fingers gingerly probed at the swelling, grinning when she felt the tissue stretch. Her gaze shot up to Jason’s face, “Well, it’s just sprained and not broken, so that’s good. We just need to keep it elevated until the swelling goes down.” 

Jason rolled his eyes and ran a hand down his face, annoyed at the news. Raven tapped his knee, drawing his attention back to her, “I have another treatment for that. It’ll be done before you finish breakfast.” 

Ignoring the Waynes’ curious peeks over her shoulders, Raven stood, Cassandra and Damian backing up as she did. Her skirts ruffled as she turned, quickly pulling out a bag of tea leaves and muddling them in a cup. A large dash of salt preceded the hot water and she poured them two cups, handing them to the injured men. King Wayne sniffed it, his nose wrinkling and Jason raised a brow at her. She paid their sense of taste no mind, adding, “Drink this while I get the needles and juniper in my room.”

The princess nearly turned to go with her but caught herself. Despite his pain Jason smirked at the move, his gaze conspiratorially flicking from the Azarathian’s retreating back to his sister’s face. Not breaking her stride, Raven called over her shoulder, “You’re free to come along if you wish, my Princess. Although it will take only a minute.” 

Cassandra followed her, ignoring her brothers’ muffled laughter, her father’s suspicious frown, and the satisfied hum from Alfred. The two women dashed up the stairs, only for Raven to nearly stumble on the last step. The princess silently caught her arm, steadying her hand in the small of the mage’s back. Raven blushed at the contact and Cassandra jumped back, fidgeting with the bands along her biceps as they continued on. 

Once outside her door Raven fumbled with her key, overly cognizant of the princess’ presence beside her. She tried to keep her mind on Jason and King Wayne’s injuries, although her cheeks stayed flushed as she pushed the door open. Cassandra hesitantly walked in, taking in the packed bags, the haphazard stacks of spellbooks, the still empty drawers and bare desk. The princess felt her lips pull into a thin line, guilty that her family had made it so the sorceress had yet to have even a waking mark to herself so far. 

Raven felt the younger woman’s uncertainty but paid the emotion no mind. Instead, she crouched down and dug through one of her chests, finding a wrapped carton. Her nails quickly pried it open, a smile forming at the sight of the needles. Cassandra peeked over her shoulder as she picked up a vial from the windowsill, shaking the glass to disturb the salt and leaves settled on the bottom. 

The apothecary looked at the princess and felt a warm smile slide onto her face. The mute smiled back and pointed at the door. They left the room, bounding down the stairs as fast as their skirts would allow. 

Jason and King Wayne were resting against the table when they returned, their blood stained clothing and dinged armor already peeled off of their forms. Richard and Damian were sharpening their blades while Alfred wiped the dried blood off their cheeks. Timothy had gotten a map of the kingdom and held a pen, marking the areas that his father mentioned. 

The men looked up as they reappeared. Raven went to Jason’s side and poked at the swelling. She looked satisfied at the result, picking up a bowl and pouring a mouthful of water in the glossy ceramic. Biting off the cork, the mage poured half of the vial in, mixing it until the top began to froth up. She hitched up her skirts and sat at Jason’s feet, her lips pulling in a thin, reluctant line, “This will sting a bit. But it’ll make the acupuncture painless.” 

He nodded and she swiped a chunk of foam off the top, patting it against his skin. Cassandra put a hand on her brother’s shoulder, smiling encouragingly at Jason as he hissed, squeezing his eyes shut when Raven lifted his ankle, coating the bottom. Pale hands took out a needle, dipped the point in the solution and poked at his skin, lips curling up as the tension started to leave his shoulders. 

It took thirteen needles for the second born prince to finally unclench his fists. Raven carefully balanced his foot on the chair and stood, reaching for her discarded chest. A minute later she was swabbing the skin with salve and tightly bandaging the joint. Richard slid next to his brother, slinging an arm over his shoulders, “It’s like magic, isn’t it?” 

Jason swatted at his cheeky grin but rolled his shoulders in agreement, shedding his coat to allow the healer to dab at his wounds. She spoke up as she went, “My King, has the bleeding on your forehead stopped? I don’t believe it requires stitches but I need to ensure there’s enough salve once Prince Jason is done.” 

Said prince cut in before his father could speak, “You don’t need to call us by our titles, y’know.” He leaned back and crossed his arms, “Just Jason and Bruce are fine.” 

Bruce huffed at that, aiming a pointed look at the mage. She bowed her head an inch, holding up her hand, “No need to worry, my King. To be honest, I prefer formalities, especially when in someone else’s home. I’m here to heal, not to disrespect any of you.”

Damian smirked, “Then I take it you can also heal Jason’s manners?”

Raven flicked her gaze to him, a tiny curl on her lips, “His manners are already healed enough. I mean really, my Prince, you wouldn’t break a man’s nose if it was already crooked, would you?”

Jason barked out a laugh and Cassandra hid her smile against Richard’s shoulder. Unphased, the youngest added, “Noses can be broken more than once.” 

“Well, yes, but punching your brother in the face twice screams of overkill.” 

Alfred snorted at that, leaning down to refill the king’s cup. He murmured against Bruce’s shoulder, “She has a sharp tongue. I quite like her.” 

Bruce raised a brow at him, surprised. His cerulean eyes looked over the table, noting how all his children pitched forward, listening to their guest as she and Damian kept up their teasing. A humorless chuckle escaped the king and he looked at the older man again, “She hasn’t been here a day.” 

Wrinkled hands rubbed at his mustache and Alfred winked at his king, shrugging his shoulders. However, the old man couldn’t keep the knowing smile off his face. Bruce noticed but ignored it, his attention drawn to Cassandra’s laugh, rare as the sound was, her hand slapping at her thigh. Next to her, Timothy snickered into his palm. 

The king leaned back into his chair, a tiny smile curling his lips. He motioned to a servant and looped his hand in the air, watching as the man immediately headed for the kitchens. A minute later the cooks reappeared, the man in tow, with three platters of fresh fruit and honey. The patriarch smiled, taking another sip of his tea. The servant set down an assortment of oils and, at the king’s nod, sprayed the air with the perfume. 

Raven watched curiously as all the royals let the man rub the oil on them, the scents lingering behind their ears, on their wrists and above their sternums. She contained her wariness and allowed perfume on her own person, sniffing and then coughing at the unfamiliar potency. Timothy allowed himself a laugh and Richard offered her a strawberry.

She took it, watching as Jason leaned in to get a better look at Timothy’s map, pointing out the areas they protected. Raven looked on curiously, jumping as Damian deadpanned, “Our routes aren’t secret. You’re obviously here to stay. You can look.” 

Richard clicked his tongue at his brother before lightly touching her shoulder. Cassandra pointed at the inky borders as he began to explain, “We split up in pairs and try to keep to separate areas, since the country’s so big.” The mage followed the princess’ finger as the siblings explained the differing areas. 

“Here’s the asylum, just on the outskirts of Arkham. And all the way over here is Blackgate. Luckily the outskirts are only a mark away, even though it takes almost a quarter moon to reach the city’s center.” Jason butted in then, “From Blackgate it’s a day’s trip to skip across the rivers and you get the outskirts of Eastern. Most of the trouble stems from here and bleeds over to Gotham.” 

“Hmmm, I know of Eastern. Is Blackgate a city as well?”

Her question was met by awkward silence, broken by the king’s sigh. “Blackgate is populated entirely by criminals, former inmates.” He held her gaze, “It started as a way to reintroduce convicts into the working force through labor--” 

“Mining, I suppose.” 

Bruce raised a brow and nodded at her deduction, continuing, “Yes, Blackgate is shielded by two mountain ranges and the river. They are rich in ores.” Taking a breath, he added, “The Jester has ruined the city.” 

“The Jester?”

She noticed how the princes winced and Cassandra rubbed at her earlobe, averting her eyes. Jason ran a hand through his hair. Her mauve eyes flicked back to the king, “We have no records of him ever being arrested, tried, or sentenced. He snuck in and galvanized the inmates. Encouraged them to run off and try their hand at emassing ‘armies’ of their own.” 

“Does he have an ‘army?’” The mage punctuated her question with air marks, a brow peaking at Damian’s disgusted snort, “I wouldn’t call it an army. More of a stableshow.”

Richard cut in before the prince could continue, “The Jester charmed many of the faire’s freaks into fighting for him.” He paused, running his tongue over his teeth, “His Harlequin is the most loyal and the most dangerous,” Blue eyes glanced at his first brother and the scar along his hairline, “They’ve gotten close a couple of times.” 

“He is the reason you all started fighting.” 

Timothy nodded, even as the rest of the Waynes stayed silent. Swallowing, Raven glanced at the knight, a small smile forming. She raised the pitch of her voice, questioning, “I’m assuming Sir Alfred taught you well, since you haven’t needed a healer until now.” Raven found it curious how they all lightened up, the tense air all but lifting at her comment. Alfred gave her a grateful smile as he brought out another kettle of tea, lightly touching her arm, “They may not be knights but they can fight as well as anyone in the kingdom.” 

The sorceress smiled, her shoulders bouncing as she hid her chuckles, “May I ask which of them is the best? Or would that start another fight?” 

“There’s no fight to be had, it’s quite obviously--”

“I’m the best.” 

Raven barely smothered her peal of laughter at Bruce and Damian’s simultaneous answers. Jason snorted at that, holding his orange slice like a dagger, “Those blows to the head have made you delirious. None of you button arses could beat me in a fight if your life depended on it.” Richard tossed his head back, lost in a fit of giggles, “My, my, my. Jason, how are you so senile already? You’re younger than me!” Timothy, on the other hand, squared his shoulders and flung a grape at his eldest brother, grinning smugly when the berry splattered against his temple, “You shouldn’t laugh, Richard. I could beat you with a hand tied to my knees.” Alfred smiled and shook his head while Cassandra silently giggled as her brothers argued, nudging the healer’s shoulder and pointing at herself.

The empath breathed in at the light rivalry, smiling into her cup at the jovial emotions that danced around the hall despite their argument. Her shoulder pressed against Cassandra’s as she laughed, spurring them on, “Can any of you _actually_ beat Sir Alfred? Or is this all talk?”

All six royals sputtered at her and she sought to stone her features, but couldn’t. Raven giggled, hearing and feeling the knight’s own amusement as he sipped his tea. She savored the moment, lively and upbeat as they boasted and argued, stopping only for tea and the occasional thrown fruit. 

Such liveliness was completely absent later that night, a few marks after the sun had completely set. The manor’s air was still as the mage strolled through, save for the crickets’ chirping. A small cedar container and a tall kettle were in her hands, and a nearly silent hum rumbled in her chest as she made her way to the kitchen. She knew that Richard and Damian wouldn’t be back for a few more marks and sought to capitalize on her free time. Stepping into the kitchen, her mind went to the cooks and how scandalized they would be if they saw her, King Wayne’s guest, preparing her own tea. 

She bit back a smile at the thought, still a bit bewildered at how pampered King Wayne ensured her first breakfast to be. She absentmindedly brought her wrist up to her nose and sniffed, smelling the faint scent of perfume. Now that the potency had lessened, the fragrance was enjoyable, reminding the woman of the incense that constantly burned throughout Azarath. Wayne Manor was certainly different from any of the temples. But King Wayne aside, Azar and Alfred be damned, she would brew her own tea.

Even if she had to do it in the middle of the night. 

She quickly lit a few candles, then filled the kettle with cold water, fondly running her fingertips over the burns and chips against the metal. Her mother's carved rendition of a dove feather was still deeply embedded under the spout, bold and smooth despite the kettle's age. The mage was so consumed in tracing the simple design along the edge, she didn't even hear the soft footsteps as they approached.

Someone knocked on the wood of the entryway. Raven spun around, a hand to her chest in surprise. Cassandra held up both hands at her reaction, a tiny, curious smile lifting her lips. Her mahogany eyes took in the older woman’s tense shoulders, the visible flutter of her pulse against her neck, how one foot slid up behind the other, the way her pupils expanded like a cat’s would. Those same pupils ebbed as the healer recognized her, pale hands smoothing down her braid, surprisingly free of her headscarf.

“Oh! Cassandra, what are you doing up? You’re supposed to be resting.” 

The younger woman nodded. She motioned to the window, Raven's loose cloak, and the small candles that lit the kitchen, her fingers curling and gesturing as she went. Raven blinked and Cassandra repeated herself, pointing at her eyes, then Raven’s hands, then the box in her hands. 

The magically inclined woman nodded in understanding, reaching around and holding up her kettle, “I was going to make tea. It helps me sleep.” She glanced at Cassandra, biting back a smile as the princess leaned forward on her heels, her eyebrows jumping an inch, “Um, did you want some as well?”

Cassandra considered her for a long second then nodded again, the smile widening on her face, before stepping forward to grab a chair. The older woman watched as she stepped on the seat, grabbing a container of honey off the shelves. She didn’t dwell on the reason why the princess was so spry for this time of night, figuring that the family’s nighttime antics had affected their sleeping habits. 

Raven brushed those thoughts aside and added more water to the kettle before setting it over the fire. Cassandra tucked a short lock of hair behind her ear, holding up two mugs as she settled down on top of the stove, her bandaged legs swinging. Her fingers curled again, motioning to the small cedar box.

“It's what we keep in the temples. Equal parts chamomile, sage, and ginger.” The mage paused her explanation as she took the woman in. Cassandra had such an odd way of speaking; the way she moved her arms and hands was fluid, almost like a dance. The rest of the Wayne clan knew how to understand her completely, and Raven was glad that she was slowly becoming privy to her signs as well, despite the extremely short amount of time they had known each other. 

She tugged at the ends of her braid, a nervous, awkward grin on her lips when she realized she had been staring, “I’m hope that you’ll enjoy it.” 

Cassandra nodded, sidling up to her to hold open the bag. The mage softly pulled out two servings of tea, watching as the princess sniffed them, her eyes fluttering shut. The noble smiled and Raven’s gaze flicked to her lips for a moment, hastily moving back to her eyes half a second later. 

She turned to the kettle to hide her embarrassment, worried that Cassandra would notice. The princess was proving to be very perceptive, which made the mage’s own budding… observances all the more difficult to conceal. Quickly checking that the water was heating up, the whistle faintly sounding, she straightened her back, hearing the scrape of a chair along the floor. 

Cassandra waved her over and Raven eagerly sat at the table, hesitating a moment to calm herself. The princess’ eyes were warm but bashful as she leaned forward, resting her chin in her palms. The mage chuckled at her sagged shoulders, “Are you finally realizing that it’s the middle of the night?” 

The woman stuck out her tongue, one hand lifting to poke the Azarathian’s nose. Pale hands grabbed at her wrist and the mage grabbed a spoon, dipping the curved back in the honey. Violet eyes teasingly met mahogany and Cassandra lunged for the spoon, a grin stretching her lips as Raven pressed the metal to her cheek. The princess pouted as the honey stuck to her face, her face brightening as the healer failed to contain her laughter. 

Raven pressed her hands to the noble’s arm as she stood, quickly dunking a rag in cold water. She spun around to see Cassandra not a stride away, casually sticking the spoon in her mouth. The older woman blushed and, after a moment’s indecision, stepped forward, softly moving to wipe the honey off the princess’ face. 

The mage tried to keep her gaze on the honey, but her eyes proved to be traitors as they flicked to the royal’s lips. She swallowed thickly and awkwardly as Cassandra’s eyes bored into her face, only for her heart to nearly stop as the mute reached up, the pads of her fingers tracing around her gem. Cassandra took in the contrast of the crimson pyrope with her own tanned skin, the dark violet strands boldly standing out against the mage’s pale forehead, how rapidly those pale cheeks filled with heat, Raven’s face becoming ruddy. The two lost track of time staring at each other in silence, long after all the honey had been cleaned. Raven fought the urge to lean in, trying to decipher the flutter of Cassandra’s emotions against her own. 

The princess beat her to the punch, scooting forward an inch. Raven’s eyes stared as she popped the spoon out of her mouth, her tongue flicking out to wet her lips. Raven dropped the rag, her nails running to cup behind the noble’s ear. Cassandra’s brows jumped a hair and she smiled, bashful. She ignored the urge to hide behind her bangs, instead trailing her hand from the Azarathian’s gem to her chin, watching as Raven’s eyes fluttered shut.

The kettle shrieked out, starling both to jump back. Cassandra tugged at a lock of hair, her eyes wide as she stared at the floor. Shakily, Raven wringed her hands, her blush overwhelming her cheeks and trailing down her neck. The older woman took a deep breath and bent to grab the almost-forgotten cloth, pulling the kettle off the fire right after. Internally counting the length of her breaths, Raven prepared their tea, adding a smidge more honey than necessary.

Cassandra bit her lip as Raven set her cup down in front of her, silently trying to process her thoughts. Her heart battered against her ribs as the mage sat next to her, slowly sipping at her tea. After a moment, the noble grabbed her mug, a high pitched hum escaping when she took a sip. Raven raised a brow as she watched the lines of her throat move, striving to keep her face as stoic as possible. 

Amethyst eyes glanced at Cassandra’s lips again, “Tasty enough?” 

The princess felt her blush darken at her words but pitched forward an inch, nodding. Raven softly smiled at her and turned her gaze back to the table, running her nails along the mug’s rim. They sipped in silence for a few more minutes, listening to the crickets’ songs and the panicked screech of an owl’s victim. Cassandra downed the rest of her drink, turning to watch as a fruit bat flitted near the window, leaning back to rest her shoulder against Raven’s own. The mage accepted the weight, her eyes closing as she finished her tea. 

Raven stood, drawing the princess’ attention back to her. The mage motioned to her tea, “I can clean if you want.” Cassandra nodded and stood, leaning against the wall as the mage quickly cleaned the mugs. Still sheepish, the princess couldn’t meet the older woman’s gaze, instead staring at the effortless way she washed the dishware. 

She handed the mage a towel, running her tongue over her teeth when their hands brushed. Cassandra looked away, a hand coming up to tug at her earlobe. Raven watched the move, her fingers toying with a stray string, awkward in the resulting silence.

The mage cleared her throat. When the princess’ attention was back on her, she shot a small, embarrassed smile, “Perhaps we should get some rest? Prince Richard seems like he won’t mind but I assume Prince Damian will be annoyed if we miss breakfast.” 

Taking her excuse, the princess nodded and turned to leave, knowing that the healer would follow her. After her first step she paused, brows furrowing. She glared at the table, building her reserve. Raven regarded her for a few long seconds, then felt her brows jump when the princess offered her arm. 

Raven couldn’t keep the blush nor the smile off her face as she took the limb, softly feeling the press of their arms through their robes. Cassandra seemed stunned that her offer was accepted, but she quickly recovered, leading them through the hallway. Mindful of her bare feet on the stones, the royal went up on the tips of her toes as they traversed up the stairs, a lazy grin shaping her lips as their height difference was lessened. 

The mage chuckled at that, teasingly knocking her hip against Cassandra’s own. Her grin faltered at the sight of her door and she felt as the princess’ steps slowed. Tucking a stray luck of hair behind her ear, Raven let go of the younger woman and straightened her back. 

Her eyes softened and she grinned, the movement making the pyrope almost twinkle in the dim light. “Thank you for the escort,” She murmured. Cassandra noticed that her arm twitched, wanting to reach out to her. The mage held back, instead lacing and unlacing her fingers over and over again. She held the mute’s gaze, “Goodnight, my Princess.”

Cassandra smiled back, tugging at her earlobe yet again. She nodded and, when the older woman closed the door, turned on her heel to leave. She paused at the stairs’ edge, letting out a high pitched hum as she buried her flushed face in her hands, trying and failing to hold back her giggles. 

\--

A broad shouldered man carried a short drunk out, one hand at the scruff of his neck and the other on his trousers. He tossed him nearly ten feet, whipping back around to shove two more men out and kick the fourth’s back, angry curses escaping all of them as he did so. The man somehow squeezed his shoulders through the doorway, slamming the door after him. One of the drunks brushed the bootprint off his buddy’s back, spitting at the door. The fluid missed, instead dribbling on his shoes. 

A few strides away Damian crouched down in the overgrown bush, narrowing his eyes at the group of men. They certainly didn’t look like they knew anything, but he knew better than to doubt their informants. The men were all in varying stages of drunkenness; his hand grabbed at his sword’s hilt, estimating he could take all four of them down within a minute. From his crouched spot on a tree bough Richard held up a fist, subtly shaking his head at his brother to wait. 

Bushy Beard took a flask out of his pants and drank a sloppy swig, “I’m tellin’ yah, he says four hunred coins. _Goldy_ ones too, not them bum silvers that evah one else offers.”

The tallest one burped loudly, slurring, “You’s full of shit!” Bushy Beard glared as he was roughly clapped on the back, his crooked teeth bared. “I don’t care if yah believe me, it’s the truth!”

Mister Bootprint snorted, sounding like an annoyed horse, “They ain’t _ever_ offer gold in Arkham. Your ears are broke, you bum.” 

Bushy Beard wasn’t listening, instead dropping an arm around the fourth man, prodding his extended gut with his knuckles, “Yah see, mate, those two ah the bums! Yah and me, we could win those goldys no problem!” The man scratched at his unkempt whiskers then at his stomach, one eye squinting in thought, “Four hunnred goldies, eh? Two hunnred for me and two hunnred for you?” 

Bushy Beard smirked, his tongue flitting between a gap in his teeth, “Tha’s right! We can even take that cyclops’ extra goldys too!” 

The tall one guffawed at that, bending forward with his palms on his knees, “You twos couldn’t win if one-eye was hog-tied.” He nudged Mister Bootprint, “Watchin’ dem fight is gunna be better than those stretchy ladies at the stableshows.” 

Richard grabbed his javelin, slowly wrapping his fingers around the thin rod. Damian narrowed his eyes, leaning back on his heels. Silently, he unsheathed his sword, zoning in on Mister Bootprint’s back. 

The older prince aimed at the tallest one’s ankles, noting the daggers that tucked into his belt. Richard threw the spear. The tall man cried out and fell to the floor as the javelin sliced through his boots and against the side of his ankle, his daggers flying out of reach. 

In the frenzied confusion Damian pounced, quickly taking out Mister Bootprint’s knees with a forceful kick. He pivoted, using his momentum to land on Bushy Beard’s back. A quick punch to the throat felled the large man. Behind him, he heard the _thump!_ of Richard punching the fat one’s kidney, both his quarries curled up on the ground. 

The youngest prince bent to turn Bushy Beard on his side, rifling through the pockets of his tunic. Ignoring Richard’s disgruntled harrumph at the unnecessarily rough state of Mister Bootprint’s knees, Damian felt a smirk appear when he found a crumpled scroll with the Jester’s insignia sloppily stamped on. 

He stood, sheathing his sword and nodding at his brother. They rolled all four men onto their sides then retreated to the edge of the forest, quickly covering their tracks. Wiping the blood off his palms Damian unrolled the scroll, eyes narrowing at the foreign stamp on the bottom. Richard glanced at the one-eyed emblem, the muscles of his jaw coiling back and forth in thought. 

The large shouldered man kicked open the doors and barged through again, another drunk complaining in his grasp. The princes slid back into the shadows as they jolted, the man dropping the drunk in the dust. He growled out, screaming over his shoulder into the darkness of the pub, “I said NO FIGHTIN’ you piss-mires!” 

Damian snorted at their obscenity and jumped into the tree, a step behind Richard as they headed back to the Manor.


	3. The Joy of Gardens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raven finally gets the chance to unpack.

Bruce meandered through his courtyard, watching the pastels of the sunrise start to take over, staining the clouds orange and pink. A deep breath filled his lungs; after all the fuss and commotion of the past two days, let alone the past moon, he was glad to have some quiet. Not ten minutes in a groan threatened to escape as the pad of footsteps along the wet grass fell on his ears. Shaking his head, he resigned himself to a servant’s partial presence and kept going. 

Turning the corner he saw a flash of indigo and froze, hearing Raven’s sharp intake of air as she nearly collided into his side. Bruce stooped down, one hand catching the bowl of seeds that slipped out of her grasp while the other steadied itself on her shoulder. He noticed the lack of headscarf but said nothing. The young woman’s cheeks were a bit flushed as she straightened up, tucking an unruly lock of hair behind her ear. 

“King Wayne!” She steadied herself, taking a quick breath to calm her scrambling. Pale hands patted down her skirts, the material bulkier in the cool morning air, and she brushed aside the fallen seeds to the bricks’ edge. Turning to him, she bowed her head an inch, “Pardon me, my King. I was in such a rush I didn’t see you.”

“You do realize that you don’t have to rush. As my guest you may have the servants do your bidding,” he reminded. He held up the bowl and she silently took it back, balancing a folded cloth on top of it. He raised a brow in question but Raven seemed too distracted in her cargo to notice. The man cleared his throat, watching as her eyes hastily flicked back to his own. 

He held out an arm. 

She paused, her head tilting in confusion as her shoulders curled in on themselves. Bruce kept his thoughts off his face, but they were loud regardless. The Azarathian was an _odd_ creature for certain, but one that made all of his children (and even Alfred) happy. With that in mind Bruce added, “You seem to be in quite a hurry. Let us go, then?” 

Her fingers picked at a stray end of string sticking out, nervously sawing at it with her nails. She shook her head, her hair fluttering about, “I would hate to trouble you, my King.” She chewed on her left cheek, shyly glancing at his face, “It’s a bit silly, especially for a man of your position.”

Bruce chuckled, “You’ve met my children, Raven. I can certainly handle silly.” 

A low pitched hum escaped at that and, after a quick second of consideration, she took his arm, leading them further into the courtyard’s greenery. They stepped onto the grass, brushing the burrs that clung to their knees.

She sat on the ground with her back to the legs of a bench, tucking her skirts up underneath her. Bruce sat on the wooden bench, making space for the bowl as Raven unwrapped the cloth and the yellow-white cubes inside. Feeling his stare, she said, “A diced apple and pear.” 

Without waiting for his response she raised her face to the sky and let out a noise somewhere between a low whistle and a cooing hum. The king raised a brow but stayed silent. Half a minute later Bruce watched as a crow hopped towards them, its shiny head bobbing as it shakily approached, warily glancing from him to the mage. Raven held out a finger and the bird jumped to nuzzle it, clicking it beak and fluffing its feathers as the woman let it climb into her lap. 

“Don’t get greedy, little one,” She murmured, sliding the pads of her fingertips along the line of its feathers. Raven leaned back and reached up, grabbing a handful of seeds and offering her palm to the crow. The bird squawked indignantly, twisting to peck at the fruit balanced on her knee. 

The two humans were silent as they watched as birds seems to materialize out of thin air to come closer. They poked out of the leafy treetops, glided from their concealed nests, skipped out from the safety of the tall grass. The smaller birds were bolder as they perched on the bench, stretching their necks to peck at the bowl. A small blackbird landed atop violet strands and fluffed its wings, tweeting out when the mage lifted a piece of pear to its beak. 

Bruce suppressed a jump as a hummingbird fluttered above his shoulder. He hesitantly batted it away, only for five more identical birds to replace it. They were a glossy brown with bright red chests; fearless, one landed on his knee, while the others stayed in the air, just out of reach. He heard Raven’s laugh, even as she tried to smother it behind her hand, “They seem to like you.” 

“Hmmm,” Blue eyes glanced from the apothecary to the feathered creatures around them, “You do this every morning?” 

Raven looked down into her lap, scratching the top of a pigeon chick’s head. She bit at the inside of her cheek again, “All types of fowl are holy animals in Azarath. We keep many offerings of seed and fruit along our settlements.” She glanced up at him again, her attention flicking to the robin on his shoulder, “You've seen our temples. Bird feathers are prized, yes, but the ability to fly, to migrate…” Her voice trailed off wistfully, and for not the first time Bruce wondered _why_ she would volunteer being his family’s healer if it meant leaving her home. 

The woman shook herself out of her stupor, tilting her chin to him, “Birds have always been a common sight to me. With how busy the days and nights are, I figured half a mark each morning wouldn’t be too obtrusive.” 

Bruce held up a finger, watching as the fearless, tiny bird carefully perched on the digit, balanced along his scars. Raven chuckled at him, “You’re a robin magnet, aren’t you?” 

He shrugged, feeling a hint of a smile escape. She was quite an odd one indeed. 

Carefully, he scooped a few dozen seeds in his palm and held them up, motionless as the robins hovered. They pecked at his hand and one even landed on his wrist, its glossy feathers fluffing. The king turned his head and glanced at Raven, observing as she rubbed her nose against a pigeon’s beak, her hands occupied with petting the multitudes of fowl among them. Accepting that his morning would be surrounded by birds, he placed his attention back to the robins and the hummingbird that returned to his shoulder. 

The two spent well over a mark in silence, opening their seed-laden palms to the birds and stopping only when the seeds ran out. Most of them left, their wings flapping and their feathers fluffing indignantly, when Raven stood, stretching her arms and raising her face to the sky. The move made her gem gleam and the king cleared his throat, questioning, “What type of stone is that?” 

She turned her torso to look at him, her gaze rising with his face as he stood. “Pardon, my King?”

Bruce motioned right below his own hairline, “The stone on your forehead. I thought it was glass, but it just gleamed like a ruby.” 

“Oh,” Her pale hands softly touched the jewel, her lips tightening into a thin line, “It’s a pyrope, actually. Polished until no facets remained. It was the healing gem on my mother’s betrothal necklace before I was born.” 

Bruce nodded but was silent at that, smart enough to leave her to her memories. He brushed any stray seeds and feathers off his person, then held out his arm again. Raven grabbed the bowl and cloth before she took his offer, closing her eyes and enjoying the light on her face as they made their way to the Hall. 

The king opened the door for her and paused, his shoulders immediately squaring at the sight within. Richard and Damian were silently resting in their seats, free of any blood or visible injuries. But Timothy, Cassandra, and Alfred were hovering over a scroll on the table, worried looks on all their faces. The table was littered with maps and scrolls sealed from their informants and the shine of the bronze seal caught both their eyes, spurring the mage to drop his arm. 

Raven took a step forward but halted herself, wary at the emotions that suffocated the room, how _tired_ they all looked. The king placed a hand on her shoulder, his voice stern, “Raven, go to the kitchen and prepare Richard and Damian some of your healing tea.” She raised a brow at him and nodded at the apprehension on his usually stoic face. 

She picked up her skirts and headed to the doors, stopping when the king called to her back, “And you can spend the remainder of the day unpacking. The rest of us have business to discuss.” 

Nodding without breaking her stride, the healer quickly did as he said, balancing two kettles and empty cups as she re-entered the hall. Taking up as little space as possible, she placed the tray between the eldest and youngest princes, “These two are for Prince Damian and Prince Richard. The rest is for all of you,” she murmured. 

The mage quietly walked to the door and slipped out, hearing Sir Alfred advise, “I will fetch you for dinner later, Miss Raven.” She nodded again and quietly shut the doors behind her, her steps faster than usual as she made her way down the increasingly familiar hallways. She paused halfway to her room, pulling off her headscarf and wringing her hands. Rolling her shoulders as she trotted up the stairs, she entered her room and closed the door, leaning back against the wood a second later. 

Frazzled and anxious at the tension that seemed to have settled over the Manor, Raven took another deep breath and took in the mess that was her room. King Wayne’s words repeated in her mind and she stood straight, grateful for the distraction as she got to work. 

\--

No one spoke as the soft trod of Raven’s footsteps faded away, their eyes on Bruce as he read over the scroll. The lines on his forehead showed as he took in the insignia, running a palm over his face, “Is this the first mention of this man? I’ve never seen this stamp before.”

Jason shook his head, the muscles of his jaw coiling, “No. The first we’ve heard of him. But there’s been rumbling that he’s been recruiting the best criminals out there. Seems to like skill over strength, but he’s gotten quite a few criminals and even some failed knights to join him.” He ran a hand through his hair, a frustrated sigh escaping, “Most of the outlaws in Arkham’s outskirts are in bed with him as well.”

Richard let his head drop, pinching between his eyes, “Great.”

Timothy clicked his tongue, asking what everyone was thinking, but no one wanted to voice, “Any chance he’s working with the Jester?” 

Cassandra tugged at her earlobe and nodded, her eyes still stuck on the stamp. She traced the edge of the wax, mind racing as Damian added, “Of course he’s with the Jester. Gotham suddenly has his Harlequin and faire freaks attacking more often than usual and this guy suddenly shows up?” The youngest prince rolled his eyes, annoyed, “Why now? This Cyclops has money and can attract his own fighters. What can the Jester do to aid him in any way?”

“You think he’s rich?” Richard turned to his father, “Maybe just funneling money into the Jester’s plans rather than actually fighting?”

Timothy gulped down the rest of his tea, “Then that means he’s trying to organize the Jester’s forces.” Cassandra shook her head at that, motioning to Jason’s hairline and then the sky. _He’s never outsourced before, there’s no reason for him to start now_ , she signed.

Bruce rubbed at his chin, nodding at his daughter, “She’s right. Everything we know about the Jester points away from organization. He wouldn’t set up paid offers. He thrives on chaos and death caused by ordinary people snapping, not hiring goons to do the job for him.” 

Alfred questioned, “Are we sure that Cyclops isn’t just an alias? A way for the Jester to throw us off?”

Richard and Damian spoke simultaneously: “No,” “I don’t think so.”

After a second, “The drunk with the beard was talking about Cyclops’ messed up eye,” Damian glanced around the room, “Unless anyone’s gotten a lucky shot on him recently then they’re two different people.”

Jason rubbed at the back of his neck, “You say these guys were drunks?” At the nods he sighed, “I really doubt they’d be boasting about fighting a guy if he had guards around him. Cyclops can fight _and_ is probably using his own money.” 

Alfred hummed low in his chest, “It’s more likely than not.” 

“So Cyclops and the Jester are allies? _Just great_.” Timothy gnawed at the inside of his cheek, spreading out the map over the table. He pointed to the forest, “So, if Cyclops is sending feelers in Arkham and we know that the Jester is still hovering around Blackgate, that means, what? Almost a fifth of Gotham might be vulnerable if they decide to wage organized attacks?” 

Cassandra’s fingers slid over the river, going through Blackgate and into the ocean. _Our ports may be attacked as well_ , her fingers wrote. Bruce stood worriedly at that, towering over the map as he grabbed a pen. 

He dipped the quill in ink, marking the harbors and post stations, “We’ll have all our informants focus on this. We need to ensure that no innocents are harmed if this Cyclops does decide to attack.” 

“Central Gotham alone has enough of a surplus to last the country a month’s worth of siege.” All eyes flicked to Jason, and he shrugged at them, “Cyclops at least has the potential to be very dangerous. He and the Jester might decide to go all in; we gotta be prepared if that happens.”

Damian frowned, crushing his fist in his palm, “So let’s plan for every conceivable scenario, then.”

Cassandra sighed and Bruce nodded. Alfred stood and went to the doors, noticing and calling out to a passing servantwoman, “I need you to fetch us some supplies. Fifty map scrolls, one hundred letter scrolls and a fresh pot of ink.” She nodded and he added, “And when you get the pot, inform the chefs that we shall skip lunch, but dinner will be the same time as usual. Thank you; now get along, please.”

The woman did as he said, her skirts trailing behind her as she went. A few minutes later all seven fighters were seated around the table, reorganizing their leads and counting their informants’ territories. After nearly half a day, give or take a few marks, Richard lined them all up: fifty-six informants spanning across over four-fifths of Gotham. From Central to Eastern to Blackgate to Arkham to all the farmland to all the ports, they would know within a quarter moon how much influence Cyclops and the Jester had. 

While Jason and her father talked about how they would split up their investigations Cassandra looked over their compiled list, focusing on one such informant’s proximity to Azarath. She noted but did not bring attention to the fact just yet, instead sitting back and rubbing her eyes at the impending headache that throbbed in her head. 

To her right Richard did the same, not even attempting to hide his yawn. Damian punched his brother’s shoulder at that, not once looking up from the list, “Focus, Richard. We can’t get sloppy.” 

Timothy laid his chin in his palm, roughly blinking at the maps to stay sharp, “True, but we can’t _really_ focus without more tea.” 

Alfred touched his shoulder, standing at that. He glanced up, his brows jumping in surprise at the sky turning orange and cleared his throat, finally cognizant of the time. “It’s nearly dinner time,” He announced, biting back a smirk at how all of them seemed to perk up at the news, although they tried to hide it. 

The retired knight made his way to the doors, calling over his shoulder, “I will warn the cooks and fetch Miss Raven while you all clean up.” 

Cassandra jumped up, shaking her head. She picked up her skirts and trounced to Alfred’s side, _I can fetch Raven_ , she signed to the older man. The princess ignored the raised brow and smirk he sent her, just as she ignored Richard’s laughter behind them as they exited the Hall. 

Parting ways with Alfred at the kitchen, the princess made her way to the second floor. Cassandra knocked on Raven’s door, frowning when she didn’t hear anything within. She waited a minute then knocked again, her knuckles firmer on the thick wood. She bit her lip and touched the doorknob, surprised when the metal turned and the door opened. Stepping a stride into the healer’s room, the noble quickly took in the neatly organized spellbooks along the walls, the vials that dotted the desks and window panes, the headscarves hanging a hand’s reach away from the door. 

Walking in further, there was no sign of the mage in the bathroom either. Stumped, Cassandra put her hands on her hips, a worried pout on her lips. She stalked out of the older woman’s room, closing the door behind her. Descending the stairs, she walked towards the courtyard, her footsteps pausing as she heard a steady voice. 

She pushed the hair away from her ears, trying to discern the sound. It was low and deep, yet distinctly feminine. Silently stepping towards it, the royal recognized the voice as Raven’s. Her head tilted in confusion; was she… chanting?

Cassandra found her just inside the dirt barrier around Alfred’s beloved patch of honeysuckles, her indigo skirts contrasting boldly with the flowers’ creamy petals. Her hair was completely down, locks softly blowing in the air. Sitting cross legged, pale hands were cupped in front of her stomach and her soft words filled the air, steadfast as she meditated, “Azarath. Mentrion. Zinthos.” 

Raven didn’t seem to notice her arrival. Instead, she kept up her meditation; breathing in through her nostrils, holding the breath to softly speak those three words, then releasing, her shoulders slumping as she did. Cassandra watched for a few breaths, curious at how long the mage must have been meditating. Finally, the faint memory of _why_ she was there came to her and she stepped inside the patch. 

The princess sat next to her, carefully folding her skirts up underneath her legs. She paid no mind to the dirt, instead tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Raven did not waver in her words, although the pitch lowered to a near whisper, “Azarath. Mentrion. Zinthos.” 

Amethyst eyes slid open and flicked to her companion. A soft smile curled the ends of her lips at the sight of Cassandra and she let her limbs go slack. “My Princess,” She rolled her shoulders and glanced at the darkening sky, “I take it that dinner is ready?” The princess pointed a thumb over her shoulder with a nod. 

Raven sighed contentedly and stood up, stretching upward as she went. Her arms reached for the sky until she balanced on the tips of her toes, oblivious to how Cassandra’s eyes widened at the move. The arch of her back was prominent and she ran her fingers through her hair, not so oblivious to the royal’s eyes breathlessly tracing the lines of her body as she did so. The mage began to walk towards the Hall, smoothly yanking her hair back into a loose bun and wrapping the headscarf over right after. 

After a half dozen strides she paused, turning back to look at the princess. Cassandra was all but frozen to the spot, her mouth slightly agape as she stared at the sorceress’ retreating back. Raven cleared her throat, a lazy smile briefly flitting over her lips, “My Princess? Dinner is ready, remember?” 

Jolted out of her stupor, Cassandra blushed as she lifted her skirts and jogged to the older woman’s side. Her umber eyes were glued to the flowers near her feet as she approached, still stunned from the older woman’s teasing stretch. Feeling bold, Raven offered her arm. 

Blushing even darker, the princess took it, letting the mage lead them to the Hall.

Dinner was a swift, quiet affair, one that all of them needed. Once Cassandra had released her arm at the Hall’s doors, the healer hadn’t said a word until she busied herself with quickly checking over Richard and Damian, minutes before they all parted for their rooms. It had been a surprise to have all the Waynes asleep at the Manor for once, but no one complained. 

Breakfast had been equally quiet. Lunch was less sporadic and more nonexistent, if the cooks’ complaints that everyone just stopped by for a snack were to be believed. With all the Waynes preoccupied, dinner had been delivered to their rooms. 

The princess felt her leg shake as she sipped her tea, displeased with the unfamiliar lethargy of the day. Cassandra slowly replayed the scroll’s contents in her head and considered her options as she ate, making up her mind rather quickly. The princess knew that her father and Alfred would still be locked in the library for a few marks, at least halfway until sunrise. She also knew that Damian had probably already snuck out to find more informants as soon as the sun set, and that Timothy had undoubtedly joined him; likewise, she was aware that Jason and Richard would be too busy checking over their maps and prepping their weapons to notice. 

Slipping out of her room, Cassandra was also very aware that Raven loved the silence. The older woman could enjoy the loud shouts and general mischief that she and her brothers got into, but the mage needed just as much quiet time to herself to recharge. Yesterday afternoon had all but proved it. So, when the princess spotted the familiar shimmer of yellowed script and indigo satin in the back gardens, she didn’t hesitate to join the apothecary despite her bare feet. 

Raven was crouched down in her loose cloak, using the moonlight to guide her as she smoothed down a large patch of soil. Despite the deafening silence of the night, she didn’t hear Cassandra until the mute was only a few strides away, tipped off by the rustle of her robes instead of the quiet press of her heels in the soil. Her head lifted and their eyes met. 

Cassandra gave her a weak smile and Raven sighed affectionately, patting the dirt next to her. She sat upright after the princess had situated herself, brushing the lingering dirt from her palms. Pale fingertips poked neat rows in the dirt and she jutted her chin to the wrapped package, murmuring, “Pass me the pine box, please. It's under the cloth. With the crimson trim.”

Cassandra did as she asked, resting her cheek on the apothecary’s shoulder as she watched her work. Being so close, she felt the violet haired woman’s small jolt of surprise at the invasion of her space; still, Raven let her stay, even leaning in herself as she opened the box. 

Sprouting garlic, large nuts whose shells resembled undercooked pastry, shoots the length of a thumb, and barely budding seeds that were inevitably herbs were pulled out one by one. A silent word was said over them in what the princess assumed was Azarathian and Cassandra watched as the mage began tucking them into the holes, her hands moving as effortlessly as she breathed. Her mahogany eyes widened as the sprouts started to grow right before her very eyes, steadily creeping skyward towards the moon. Raven chuckled, glancing at her companion through her lashes, “These are enchanted herbs, Cassandra. Meant to grow as fast as poison can penetrate a body and even quicker than Death can take a life.” She kissed one of the seeds and buried it as well, adding “They aren't edible but meant to be ground and applied on the skin.”

At Cassandra’s gaze of wonder, she chuckled, “My powers as a healer _are_ tied to my powers of magic. Sorcery, no matter how minor, has its benefits, you know.”

Humming in acceptance, scarred fingers lowered to pet the curling leaves that slowly erupted from the garlic. The princess’ gaze flicked from Raven to the plants, her shoulders swaying in delight. Raven continued to speak, her voice low as her hands tented around the buds, “They only grow in the moonlight and must be picked every other day, or they become overgrown and lose most of their healing properties.” She smiled at the younger woman, tilting her head towards her room’s window on the Manor’s walls, “Your father has allowed me to make use of these old plots. I should be able to tend the gardens and your family quite easily with these.” 

Cassandra smiled at her. She lightly knocked their shoulders together and turned back to the sprouts, feeling the vines start to creep near her ankles. Raven nudged the side of her hip and chuckled at the blush that dusted the princess’ cheeks. “You know,” She murmured, a soft curl shaping her pale lips, “I certainly wouldn’t mind an extra pair of hands, if you ever wished to join me.”

Cassandra tugged at a short lock of hair, averting her eyes despite the small smile on her lips. After a moment she tapped the back of Raven’s hand, smiling wider when a sprout was placed in her hand. The mage’s voice was soft as she directed her hands to plant the garlic and Raven chuckled as the noble giggled as the leaves immediately began growing, pulling her hands back. 

Raven sharply, silently gasped as Cassandra leaned back and rested their cheeks together. The princess tiredly beamed at her from underneath her lashes, her fingers curling as she motioned to the moon. After a beat, the healer returned the grin and nestled back. Her fingertips started to trace tentative patterns on the back of Cassandra’s palm as they watched the leaves curl out. 

Mauve eyes slid up to stare at the moon and, impulsively, the Azarathian spoke into the still air, “Azar, lasu la lunon lumigi sian lumon sur ĉi tiuj plantoj.” A thin, homesick smile cracked her lips as her eyes traced the moon’s shape in the inky sky. _Azar, let the moon shine her light on these plants_. 

Cassandra blinked at her curiously, her attention drawn to the vines as they began to twist around each other, their leaves caressing and spinning a stride’s length above the soil. The apothecary quietly added, “One of the pivotal parables that Azar taught was about the moon, _la luno_.” She gazed up at the orb, not quite a semicircle yet not quite a crescent, and asked, “Would you like me to tell you?” Raven turned to look at the noble, a grin freely stretching across her face, “I know you like stories. Although I can’t do voices as well as Richard can.” 

The princess debated bringing up the shrouded sadness in the mage’s eyes but decided against it, her gaze trailing up to the moon in response. She laid her head on Raven’s shoulder, her eyes tracing the moon’s outline in the night sky as the Azarathian cleared her throat. 

“Many, many centuries ago, there lived a woman named Azar. She was a proponent of absolute pacifism, no matter the risk.” Raven’s fingers trailed up Cassandra’s middle finger, tracing the scar that adorned her second knuckle, “Azar’s brand of pacifism, deemed _pacismo_ in her native tongue, marked her as an extremist, and her following was seen as a passive cult.” 

The mage chuckled a bit, a soft smile curling on her lips, “ _Pacismo eĉ koste de vi mem_ , Cassandra.” The princess leaned forward, looking up at her questioningly as she translated, “Pacifism, even at the expense of yourself.” 

“If someone wishes to harm you, to _kill_ you… you must let them, lest you injure them in the process of defending yourself,” She ignored the fighter’s astounded snort, “ _Pacismo_ is an extreme form of pacifism, yes, but it was the platform Azar built her religion with.” Her back straightened and she tugged at the free strands of hair that blew into her face, “As you can imagine, many of her followers had the same reaction as you just did. So, she won over the first few dozen or so followers with her _paraboloj_ , parables that the cosmos whispered to her.” 

A short gust of wind blew and Cassandra huddled closer, tucking her nose in the crook of the taller woman’s neck. Raven hid her gasp and took a moment to calm her heartbeat before continuing, “Bits of _paraboloj_ are everywhere, but they mainly travel through the air, balanced along the vanes of feathers. They’re most prominent at night, where their words dance off the dust in the moonlight.” 

Shaking her head, the Azarathian got back on track, “Anyway, the very first moon parable, _la unua parabolo de la luno_ , is the earliest written piece of Azarathian. It’s both a lullaby and a lesson that all children must memorize.” 

Raven rested her cheek on the princess’ head, wryly smiling against her hairline, “Pardon the lack of rhythm, it doesn’t flow as well in English.” Her eyes closed and she felt as Cassandra leaned even closer, smiling as the words effortlessly fell from her lips, “The Moon is such a beautiful constant, her face forever locked to gaze at the Earth. She has been there for eons, ever watchful and ever bright, never once looking away. 

“Now, many humans had fallen in love with her, enamored by her celestial light and her dark craters. One such person, known only as _Nekonata_ , Unknown, somehow had the Moon fall in love with them.” Cassandra smiled against her collar, “Even Azar herself didn’t know how they courted, although the owls hooted that they sang each others stories over the tides. As _Nekonata_ grew older and older, the Moon grew sadder and sadder. She had been by the Earth’s side longer than humans ever existed, she knew of humanity’s mortality. However, _Nekonata_ 's countrymen grew more and more wary of the agitated waves and the stormy skies that the Moon created in her mounting sadness.” 

Raven paused for a breath, biting her bottom lip. Her eyes opened to watch the herbs grow, savoring the warmth that the princess provided, “One night, _Nekonata_ sat on a cliff, looked up to the Moon and asked, ‘ _Lumo de mia nokto_ , light of my night, will you let me see your darkness? You have seen all of me, all of my people, all of my Earth, but no one has ever seen more than half of you.’ 

“And the Moon thought for a moment and spoke, ‘You’re right, _mia morta amanto_ , my mortal lover, no one has ever seen my darkness. But I love you and now you shall see it.’ And the Moon turned around, baring her dark side for all the Earth to see. And while _Nekonata_ gaped in awe at her immortal beauty, the rest of the world rioted, blinded by the ethereal presence suddenly exposed to them.

“ _Nekonata_ 's countrymen, furious, stormed up the rocks and threw _Nekonata_ off the cliff. The Moon cried out in horror as the rocks shattered _Nekonata_ 's bones and she spun back around, battering the seaside with never ending typhoons and hurricanes. But it was too late. _Nekonata_ was dead and the world had seen too much. All around the Earth people who once believed they were in love abandoned their friends and murdered their lovers, aghast at their mortal plainness. The Moon could only sit back and watch, appalled and amazed at the destruction.”

The princess hummed low at that, snuggling further as Raven concluded, “And, once the carnage was over and only those who had never fallen in love remained, the Moon made a vow to _Nekonata_ that she would never turn around again. And, true to _Nekonata_ 's life, she never did.” 

Raven licked her lips as she finished, an astute sense of shame and comfort flooding her veins and pooling in her stomach. The two were quiet for a long while after that, the silence only broken by the rustle of leaves along the soil and the frantic scritches of insects burrowing deep into their tunnels. Cassandra felt the mage’s soft laughter but did not move, all too aware of the sadness that weighed down her shoulders. 

“My mother taught me that one.” Cassandra moved her head from her neck, surprised and wary at the unshed tears in Raven’s eyes. The sorceress kept staring skyward, amethyst irises never leaving the moon’s figure. She took in a shaky breath, “The High Priestess wanted to teach me herself, but Mother was insistent that at least one of _la luno_ ’s parables were taught by her.” 

Softly, the princess brought the ends of her sleeve up and wiped at the older woman’s eyes. She cupped one of her cheeks and Raven sunk into the embrace, sighing sadly, “I apologize for falling apart on you like this…”

Cassandra shook her head, offering a soft smile. Her head tilted to the side, the question obvious enough on her face for Raven to guess. Mahogany eyes watched as the mage rolled her jaw from side to side. Finally, she spoke, her voice cracking at first, “Mother has been sick for a long time. She’s too young for it to be old age, I think the stress has finally weakened her. None of my potions or spells worked and she… she was coughing up blood the night before I left for Wayne Manor.” 

Ignoring the royal’s stunned look, her shoulders slumped, “I should write, but I know that once I do I won’t be satisfied until I see her again. I mean, but-- _for Azar’s sake!_ My Princess I’ve yet to be here a full _four days_ , let alone half a moon! And odds are nothing worse has occurred, but every time I convince myself that she is fine I wonder what if something _has_ happened…”

Finally the older woman looked away from the moon, staring at Cassandra’s face as she hastily wiped at her eyes, “I really shouldn’t have pushed this onto you, my Princess. I… I am sorry. I just, I just wanted to share some of my culture with you and I got too emotional.” 

The princess frowned at her and shook her head but Raven disregarded it, dropping her head into her hands and apologizing again, “That was improper of me.” 

Cassandra sat up on her knees, moving in front of her. Her tanned hands roughly cupped Raven’s jaw and forced her head up. The Azarathian started, blinking rapidly as the princess took up all of her sight. Cassandra watched as her pupils somehow grew even larger, the lavender of her eyes nearly as thin as paper. The royal rested their foreheads together, one hand dropping to delicately press above the older woman’s heart. 

Their eyes met and Cassandra smiled encouragingly at her. Hesitant, Raven placed her hands on her waist, lightly pressing down on the tops of her skirts. The princess leaned down to bury her face in the mage’s neck and sighed as Raven finally hugged her, her slender fingers balling into fists along her back as she started to tremble. 

The princess reached up to undo her braid, softly running her hands through the mulberry strands. She pressed a soft kiss to the mage’s shoulder, humming a tune that Richard used to sing to her as Raven fell apart.


	4. In decisions, Indecision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans are made and feelings are realized.

Raven leaned her weight on the princess as she was led to her room. Cassandra kept running her fingers through her hair as she tried to have her sit, but the mage had been too shaky. Mahogany eyes worriedly followed the older woman’s flustered pacing for a few moments before she stood. Raven had jolted when the noble grabbed her wrist and led her to the desk, deftly opening the drawer to find the ink and pens. 

Cassandra looked at her expectantly, softly running her hand along the mage’s back. Raven swallowed and nodded, a heavy breath leaving her as her shoulders sagged. Slowly, hesitancy still coiling in her muscles, the Azarathian began to write. 

The princess leaned her head on Raven’s shoulder, humming softly as she listened to the faint scratch of pen on paper. She paid no mind to the muscles in her back screaming at her hunched over posture. Her eyes shot open as Raven crumpled the scroll into a ball. She tugged on the indigo cloak, confused. 

Without bothering to answer her silent question the mage unrolled another scroll and started anew. As she did so, she scooted over until she was half off her chair, patting the free space with her hand. Cassandra giggled as she joined her, pleased despite the awkward position. She snuggled against the healer, slowly taking in the odd script that Azarathian was written in. The princess sighed as she let her eyes shut, wrapped in the scent of tea and ink. A yawn escaped, the time of night finally catching up to her. 

After nearly half a mark of writing and rewriting, editing and re-editing, smoothing out scrolls and refilling her ink, Raven held the letter out in front of her. She weakly smiled at her words, rereading it once over to check that she didn’t seem too overbearing. Taking a deep breath, she sought to console herself; Arella was surely fine, nothing to be worried about. Cassandra’s warmth on her side was enough to convince her of that. 

Still, she wouldn’t be able to send off the letter for another few marks…

Deciding to reread her words for the third time, Raven hadn’t noticed her companion dozing until a faint snore sounded near her ear. She paused and shifted, letting out a little huff of surprise when Cassandra all but flopped into her lap. 

Smiling despite her blush, Raven stretched and maneuvered until she stood. Cassandra did not wake up, instead curling up even more in the chair. The mage considered her for a long moment, then turned to the window, noting the late hour. 

Her lips pulled into a thin line as she realized that she had no idea where the princess’ room (or any of the Waynes’ rooms, come to think of it) was. Accepting that waking up a servant was out of the question, Raven softly scooped Cassandra up, her knees nearly buckling from the effort. Forcing herself to breathe slowly (while cursing herself for being out of shape), the mage laid her on the bed. 

Quickly tucking her skirts up, she covered the princess with the quilt. Sighing tenderly, she looked Cassandra over once again then leaned against the back of her chair, skimming over her letter for the fourth time. 

Her fingertip ran over the last line. Satisfied when no ink came off, she rolled the scroll and tied a string around it. The mage quickly made her way down to the kitchen, hiding a smile at how familiar some of the hallways were becoming. She left the letter on the kitchen table, ensuring that her name and Azarath’s stamp was present to see. Nodding to herself that Sir Alfred would see it when he and the cooks started breakfast in a few marks, she picked up the hem of her cloak and quickly padded up the stairs and back to her room. 

Cassandra hadn’t roused in the minute she was gone. Curled up on her side, the princess took up less than half of the bed. Normally, the mage knew that two women having to share a bed due to uncommon circumstances wasn’t brow-raising. But with them? Amethyst eyes briefly flicked to the royal’s lips, remembering their near kiss in the kitchen. Raven bit her lip and let out a breath, considering her options. 

After a minute she ran a hand over her face, feeling a blush start to heat up her cheeks. Nimbly, she climbed in bed next to the princess, making sure to keep a hand’s length of space between them; for courtesy’s sake, she laid on her side, facing the window and not Cassandra. Glancing over her shoulder at her current bed-mate for the night, Raven shut her eyes and began to meditate, silently murmuring out, “Azarath. Mentrion. Zinthos,” until sleep overtook her. 

A few marks later a crow landed on the mage’s windowsill. Careful around the clinking vials, its cubby beak opened and the bird shrieked into the room, indignant at the lack of snacks that morning. Raven blearily opened her eyes and tried to turn around, squinting as the light hit her eyes. Her pupils shrunk and she sighed, sinking back into the heavy warmth that pressed against her chest. 

She wrapped her arms around the warmth, nuzzling the mass of soft strands and hearing it coo out in response. Raven signed again, pulling as close as possible as she tried to fall asleep again. After a long minute, the mage’s eyes snapped open and she tensed, her hands becoming awkward against the warmth. 

A warmth that, as she was now _very_ aware of, was Cassandra. 

The princess let out a high pitched grumble and scooted closer, burying her nose in the crook of the older woman’s neck. Raven blushed red, the hazy fog in her mind immediately evaporating as she became more and more cognizant of their tangled limbs. Cassandra shifted again and the healer cleared her throat, a shiver sliding down her spine. Trying to ignore the warmth that tingled at each and every spot where they touched, Raven nudged the woman. 

“My Princess?” She murmured, her tone higher than usual. Mauve eyes winced shut at the nervous crack in her voice. If Cassandra noticed, she didn’t comment, even as the Azarathian continued, “Umm, my Princess? Are you awake? You, uh, you spent the night. In my room.” She paused, and after a beat of silence, “Ahem, uh, in my bed as well.” 

Cassandra lazily lifted her head in response, the ghost of her breath blowing over Raven’s pulse. The mage stilled and the princess blearily watched, intrigued, as the blush visibly crept down her pale neck and pooled at her collar. Smiling a bit, the royal propped herself up on an elbow, rubbing at her eyes. 

Raven gaped at her, not bothering to move her hands from Cassandra’s waist. She watched as the noble ran her fingers through her bedhead, chuckling a bit as she sat up fully. Finding a smile slide onto her face despite her nervousness, Raven poked at the princess’ side, “Sleep well?”

Cassandra nodded, her arms raising as she stretched. Tilting her face to the ceiling, she hid her smile at the mage’s little gasp. She turned to look at the older woman, mahogany eyes flicking from her face to her stomach when a low grumble sounded. A tan hand motioned to the door, her brows jumping teasingly. 

Running a hand through her long hair, Raven smiled shyly, “I need to bathe first. Perhaps I can prepare you some tea as well?” At the princess’ nod, she rolled out of bed and smoothed down her cloak. Her eyes flicked to the younger woman then shot to the floor as Cassandra stood and stretched again, readjusting her skirts to cover her legs.

Confidently, Cassandra winked at the mage and slid out the door, the click sounding in both the mage’s room and the hallway a second later. Simultaneously, Raven kneeled on her bed and Cassandra leaned against the wall, covering their hands over their blushing faces. The healer shoved her head into a pillow, her legs kicking as she laughed into it, the nervous, incredulous peal of happiness hidden in the cushion. 

Nearly two marks later Raven left the rest of the Waynes in the Hall as she carefully maneuvered the route that Sir Alfred explained to her. Luckily, the retired knight had not been suspicious when Raven sent off her letter; in fact, he had been grateful that she hadn't held off an additional day, lest the extra squadron set for Azarath have to make another trip. After learning the news the mage had set off for the stables. 

Grinning when she didn’t get lost on the way, she softly pushed aside the stable doors, eyes wide at the sheer size of the animals within. Azarath didn’t keep horses; all their husbandry attempts were used for either food or clothing. And while sheep and goats could get big, she never needed to look up to see their eyes. Her pale hands pet the horses’ manes while the soldiers packed up, running the pads of her fingers over their snouts and letting them eat sugar cubes and carrot stems off her palms. A man cleared his throat behind her and she turned, jumping a bit as she craned her neck up to see his face. The tall bearded leader tucked her letter away in his tunic for safe keeping and, after one more quick brush along the steeds’ hides, the healer watched as the group of twenty headed off. She let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, closing her eyes as the quiet of the now empty stable surrounded her.

Behind her, a man cleared his throat. 

Raven let out a gasp and whirled around like a guilty child. At the sight of the royal she released a shaky breath, a hand clutching at her chest, “Prince Timothy! Oh, please don’t sneak up on me like that.” 

The younger man grinned at her, his emotions tight despite his smile, “I’ll try.” 

“You better. Three times makes it a habit,” He laughed at that and Raven stepped up next to him, looking up at him expectantly. He held out an arm and she took it, unsurprised when he started to lead her back the way she came. 

The mage allowed him a minute of silence, then asked, “I assume you all have conjured up a plan? Something to do with -- I’m assuming -- the Jester and that scroll your brothers brought back two nights ago?” She didn’t bother looking at the prince when his steps faltered, instead pulling him along as they turned a corner. 

Amethyst eyes glanced at him, a sly smirk curling her lips, “I should hope none of you thought me as an idiot, my Prince.” 

He sighed, an honest smile coming as he chuckled, rubbing the back of his head, “I knew I liked you for a reason.” 

“I thought it was because I talk back to Prince Damian.” 

Raven squeezed his arm as he laughed, a beam of giddiness escaping the worried cluster of his emotions. She bit at the inside of her cheek as the Hall came into view, bringing with it the nervous aura that surrounded the prince. Sir Alfred met them at the door, softly grinning at her. Peeking behind the older man, Raven noted how the rest of the Waynes were busy, crowded over a map that took up nearly the entire length of the table. 

The king looked up at her as they entered, “Raven, how extensive are your healing abilities?”

The mage stepped up next to Richard, peeking past his arm to the inky trails that slid over the map. Glancing at the longest route, ending a third of the way into Blackgate, she raised a brow and looked at the royal, “Most of the salves I have are for immediate use. I would have to grow certain herbs, but I have potions that are good for up to a week after they’re prepared.” 

Her eyes flicked from the king’s face to the map and back again, “If you think that there’s a danger of _serious_ injury, I can charm some talismans, although it would take a few days.” 

“Make talismans for all of us.” She turned to the youngest prince, nodding at his demand. A brow raised in question as her fingers laced and unlaced behind her back, “Simple talismans will take only a day and a half, but for the seven of you personalized ones will take about three days.” 

The mage glanced at Sir Alfred, silently questioning if her number was correct. At his affirmative nod she bit her lip, “I also would need a drop of blood from all of you.”

Jason glanced up from the map at her, “Can I ask what for?” 

A thin smile stretched her lips, “Blood is the most protective guard that a spell could have. I put some of my own in every potion but this’ll ensure that you all can survive more damage than usual.” Cassandra pitched forward, meeting her gaze curiously and Raven hastened to add, “True invincibility is impossible, of course, but falls from certain heights and piercings through your armor that would kill most won’t be as critical.” 

Timothy finally spoke, “Could you make potions as well? This is a recon mission, not exactly one that necessitates fighting, but you never know with the Jester around. Or does charming talismans take up too much time?” 

Biting the inside of her cheek, Raven glanced up at the patriarch again, “It depends on when you all plan to leave. I can grow the herbs for the potions and the talismans tonight,” She paused in thought, a hand coming up to bite at her thumbnail, “I’ll start charming by dawn tomorrow… I should be done by day three’s midday. Usually you guys leave at sunset, correct?” At the nods she received, she hummed, the sound low in her throat, “Then I can at least get two, maybe three potions for each of you. Maybe five apiece if you can hold off until the sun is completely set.” 

The king nodded definitively at that, tilting his chin to the doors, “Can you get started immediately, then?” 

Bowing her head, Raven picked up her skirts, “Of course, my King. I’ll have the blood salves ready by dinner.” She waited a beat, as if to gauge that the conversation was over, then hurried out the Hall, headed towards her room. 

Cassandra watched her go, her fingers impatiently twittering with the bands on her arms. She picked at the lace trimmings and cleared her throat. The princess signed to her father, _I will take the westernmost route._

He raised a brow at her, “Most of your informants are near Arkham’s outskirts and a third of the way into Blackgate. Why the change?” His sapphire eyes flicked to Jason as the prince scoffed out a laugh as he followed the route, obviously seeing the princess’ motive.

_Raven’s mother is sick_ , Cassandra signed, a sheepish curl on her lips, _Whether or not something is wrong, I want her to at least visit._ Richard smiled at his little sister, giddy despite the news, “That’s what? A day and a half’s worth of travel just to the informant? Two days at most?” 

He slung an arm around Timothy’s shoulders, “Looks like she’s planning on having the healer all to herself, hmmm?” His tone was light and his grin widened at how his brother leaned his head back, snickering. Cassandra aimed a pointed look his way, embarrassed at the blush that she knew was threatening to stain her cheeks. 

“Cassandra and I can switch routes,” Damian added, rolling his eyes at his siblings. After a pause he raised a brow at his sister, “That means you should go tell her.” 

Jason snorted at his bluntness, leaning over to flick at the youngest prince’s arm, “You have so much to learn in terms of romance, kid.” The four brothers ignored how their father’s eyes widened but the princess could not. Horrified that her secret had been blown so casually (and a bit stunned at how approving her brothers were with the idea), her back straightened and she felt a chill go down her spine as she watched the king from the corner of her eye. 

She forced herself the look at Jason, barely registering his and Damian’s banter. Her father looked her over once, twice; he leaned back in his seat, an unassuming rumble deep in his chest. Cassandra involuntarily held a breath as Alfred leaned over her father’s shoulder, his lips whispering something that she could not read. The king’s face stayed blank for another moment and the princess abruptly stood, the legs of her chair scraping the floor. 

_I will tell Raven now_ , she hurriedly signed, picking up her skirts and heading towards the doors. Cassandra noticed the small, nearly imperceptible turn up of her father’s lips but ignored it, lest she get her hopes up. 

Deep down, she could admit to herself that she was probably her father’s favorite, and that he wouldn’t be _too_ objecting to never having a son-in-law, yet alone a grandchild from her. She bit her lip at the thought, physically trying to shake it out of her head; it was foolish to plan ahead when she wasn’t sure that Raven even had an inkling of attraction towards her? She knew that Azarathians were private people, but what if the mage was merely trying to be a good guest? Her gait faltered a bit at the realization, nevermind how another part of her screamed about their almost-kiss in the kitchen, their late night conversations, how they slept in the same bed and woke up in each other’s arms.

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, the princess paused at the stairs. Thinking better of herself, she walked around to the courtyard and spotted Raven, crouched along a patch adjacent to her garden. Breathing in deeply, Cassandra forced her steps to be calmer than she felt. Still, she couldn’t hold back her surprised gasp at the sight of magic before her. Pausing a stride away, she watched for a few minutes.

The sorceress was softly singing over a new batch of plants, mist spontaneously forming from her fingertips and weaving around the sprouts. Hesitantly kneeling next to Raven, she leaned forward, watching as the mist tainted the chlorophyll into a silvery white. The leaves curled about in a dance, softly ripping themselves in half to the tune of Raven’s song. 

Each half curled up like ringlets, all but shimmering in the sunlight. The mist settled over them and clung to the waxy stems as the mage’s song ended, finishing with a quiet hum. Cassandra held her breath as she watched the buds open, the scent of saffron and chamomile nearly overwhelming. Raven smiled at the princess’ reaction, scooting over to plant more mint and lemon beebrush. 

She held out some sprouts and Cassandra took them, copying her movements to tent the soil around the buds. The mage leaned back and observed their handiwork, smiling as a bee bumbled past the royal’s shoulder. Both women looked up as what seemed to be a hive’s worth of bees hovered over the gardens, diving from one patch to the next, mixing pollen from the garlic and saffron and herbs as they went.

Eyes widening, the two picked up their skirts and quickly headed back inside, patting at the material to ensure that no bees got stuck in their clothing. Taking a moment to watch the buzz around her garden, Raven turned to raise a brow at the younger woman, “Does some tea sound good?” She bit her lip, conscious of the short amount of time they would have to themselves, “Maybe even a stop at the library, too?”

Cassandra nodded and offered her arm. Raven smiled as she leaned on the princess, both of them still covered in the lingering scent of tea leaves. The princess’ hand touched hers and the mage blushed, playfully bumping their shoulders. They walked into the library, Raven dropping her arms as they spotted two of her brothers. The two were in some sort of argument, Timothy hunched over a thickly bound book and Jason standing, his hands pointing at some excerpt that proved his point. They paused, their eyebrows jumping up and mischievous grins sliding onto their faces as the women walked in.

Jason sat down and leaned against the back of his chair, smirking at his sister. Cassandra raised a brow at him and crossed her arms, daring him to speak. Raven watched the two curiously, her eyebrows raising as Timothy signed with his hands, snickering at the blush that flooded the princess’ face. Cassandra signed back and the mage was lost in trying to understand them, especially without the princess’ helpful gestures. 

Timothy nudged Jason’s shoulder and mimed shooting him with an arrow. The older man snorted and stood again, walking over to sling an arm around the mage's shoulder. Raven looked up at him blankly, one brow peaked in question. He paid her no mind, instead shooting a grin to his sister. His fingers curled up near his ear and he signed to the princess, his laugher obvious. 

Cassandra pouted and playfully shoved his shoulder, grabbing Raven's hand and leading them away. The pale woman could only walk after her, picking at her skirts to keep up with the shorter woman's fast pace as bookshelves gave way to the art that adorned the hallway walls. 

Raven blinked rapidly as she was led to the training yard near the stables, eyes adjusting to the bright afternoon light. She furrowed her brows and looked at her companion, confused by the rapid turn of events. The flustered, confused mess of Cassandra's aura made her pause and she stayed silent, even as the noble began leading her along the winding pathway, dirty wooden planks fading away to beige grass, desperate for a watering. 

The Azarathian, feeling bold, leaned down and tucked a lock of black hair behind the princess' ear. The royal’s strides faltered for half a heartbeat, then continued on. “Cassandra,” Raven spoke, her voice concerned, “Is something wrong?” 

Despite her words Cassandra made no move to communicate; instead, her pace quickened to nearly a skip, forcing the mage to jog alongside her to keep up. Raven frowned, even as her heart fluttered when the princess slid her hand down to hold her own. The apothecary squeezed her hand, holding back her sigh of relief when Cassandra slowed her gait. The grass slowly gave way to healthier feeding pastures, the springy grass squished under the soles of their boots and dampening the ends of their skirts. 

They walked for a while, following the curves of the path. The mage furrowed her eyes as she spotted the knotted tree, recognizing where they were headed. Cassandra slowed to a walk and Raven matched her strides, surprised as her garden came into view again. The garlic was dormant, its sprouts arched towards the ground, shading the roots. The rest of the herbs were still reaching towards the sky, their flowers closed and their leaves unfurled. The quiet hum of magic still lingered, as did the rest of the bees. The women gave the plot a berth of space, plopping down on the bench a few running strides’ away. 

Raven folded her hands in her lap, closing her eyes as she breathed in deeply. She did not meditate, instead listening as Cassandra worriedly gnawed on her lower lip. The comforting buzz of a bee sounded and mauve eyes opened, watching as a different group of them flew towards the herbs. The buds partly unfurled for them, inviting the pollinators to do their job, needless as it was with the magic already in them. She felt Cassandra's gaze on her face and turned to meet her, knowing that the princess would see the worry and concern.

However, the mage did not voice her thoughts. Instead, she let the tension fully leave her shoulders, softly questioning, “Will you ever teach me?” 

Cassandra’s brows jumped at that and Raven had to fight back a twinge of adoration -- she never realized that the princess couldn't raise her brows individually. It made her seem both mocking and genuinely curious, a contradictory look that only Cassandra could pull off. 

“To speak with my hands,” The mage clarified, holding her gaze. She smiled thinly, “And as much fun as Prince Jason and Prince Timothy were apparently having at your expense, I would like to know the correct way to speak with you.” The princess suddenly looked guilty and Raven raised her palms, “Not that I can't understand you! We communicate quite well as we are at this point,” Her hands lowered and she averted her eyes, pupils shrinking as she watched a bee fly from the rosemary to the peppermint, “I just want to converse with you as fluid as your family does.” 

Feeling self conscious, the healer fiddled with the hem of her skirt, “You don't have to teach me, of course. I was just hoping that with _us_ \-- umm, not like that but if you, uh, I mean -- you seem fine with us spending so much time together, and I just thought that--” 

Cassandra cut her mess of an explanation off, her hands lunging to hold the pale ones. The princess grinned, an embarrassed blush dotting her nose and creeping over her shoulders as she vigorously nodded. Raven smiled back, the movement smaller but just as pleased, her shoulders curling in relief. She re-adjusted her headscarf, squaring her shoulders as she sat up straighter, “Could we start now?” 

The princess nodded, held up her hands, and began her lesson. 

Raven proved to be surprisingly adept at forming the shapes, although she had to sound out what she read. Cassandra bit back a smile at the sight; the mage paid no mind to her loosening headscarf, instead moving her lips and furrowing her eyebrows as she mimicked the younger woman’s movements. 

A mark’s worth of progress went by fast, the healer quickly figuring out how to translate pronunciations from oral to sign. She easily copied the princess, giddy at how easy the process was. Cassandra signed simple sentences, carefully ensuring that Raven both read and signed them correctly. 

_The garden is over there. Bees are yellow and black. Tea is delicious. My hair is dark._

A pout threatened to slid over Raven’s lips when Cassandra signed a word quickly, surprised when she wasn’t able to immediately have some sort of grasp on its meaning. The princess repeated the word and Raven mimicked her, a crease deepening right below her pyrope as she did so. _Sound it out_ , the mute advised. She signed the word again. Raven watched her scarred hands intently, her lips moving as she read, “Ass-sar-raft. Oh! Azarath?”

She hummed a bit, softly signing the name over and over to get a grasp at it, _Azarath, Azarath, Azarath._ The princess felt her heart flutter at the wistful smile that slid over the older woman’s face and, remembering her mission, quickly stood. 

Raven blinked at her, “My Princess?” 

_Wait right here_ , she signed. _I’ll be back very soon._

The violet haired woman nodded and watched Cassandra’s back as she ran back towards the Hall. Sighing, amethyst eyes glanced at her gardens and she started practicing her signs again, barely noticing the pounding _thud!_ of the princess’ boots as she returned. 

Raven blushed but raised a brow as Cassandra sat flush against her and pulled out her copy of the map, pointing along her assigned route. The mage kept her face blank, “You’re going to west to see an informant.” She seemed to be steeling herself for bad news but the princess stopped her, placing a hand on her arm. _We are going to Azarath_ , she signed, a soft smile on her face. 

Raven blinked at her, her fingers nervously fiddling with her rings. She was certain she had read wrong, “We?” Instead, the princess grinned at her, holding and squeezing her hands. A breath shakily escaped the mage, “Really?” 

_The man I need to talk to stays near the river. You can see your mother while I see what he knows then we’ll come back to the Manor_. Cassandra kept her signs calm and slow, staring at Raven’s mouth as she muttered her message out loud. 

The mage gnawed at the inside of her cheek, her eyes glassy as she held one of the princess’ hands in her own. She brought their hands up and kissed Cassandra’s knuckles, her lips cool against her skin. A blush darkened both their cheeks and Raven murmured a soft, “Thank you,” along one of the noble’s scars. The healer shot her a large grin, her face lighting up, “Thank you so much, my Princess. I’m in your debt for this.” 

Cassandra shook her head at that, tugging their hands to her face and kissing Raven’s knuckles. The princess gave her a lopsided grin, _No debt between us, Raven. I like it when you’re happy_. Raven blushed even darker than that, “Thank you, Cassandra.” 

A bee glided past them, bumbling as it headed back to its hive. Raven tore her eyes away from the princess to look at her gardens, smiling at how the sprouts had already more than doubled in size. Cassandra turned around to look at them as well, an incredulous giggle escaping. 

_Your magic is amazing_ , she complimented. Raven tinkered with the ends of her headscarf, blushing as she tightened the material. Her gaze bounced from Cassandra to the garden to the Hall, a brow arching when she spotted Sir Alfred waving towards them. “I think lunch is ready,” She hummed, standing up and holding out a hand for the princess. Cassandra took her arm as they strode to the older man, their cheeks flushing as he smirked at them.


	5. Make Up Your Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before heading out for a mission, preparation and trust are a must.

Early that morning, Raven sat up with the cooks, expertly mincing the herbs. She hummed an old Azarathian lullaby as she did so, pausing every now and then to listen for the kettle’s whistle. The mage carefully divided the plants up, pouring them into piles along the edge of the table. Her pale hands set about mixing them into vials and pressing them underneath the weight of her palm. Honey in hand, she made a small batch of healing salve and brushed the solution onto a bandage. 

Opening a chest, she took out a packed block of salt. The apothecary used the butt of the knife to chisel pieces off, none larger that a mint leaf. Nodding satisfactorily, Raven stood, grabbed a saucer from the cupboards and sat down. Quickly glancing over her shoulder, she ensured that the rest of the kitchen was occupied. When all of the cooks’ backs were to her, she paused, took a calming breath, and deeply slit the inside of her palm. 

Casually, she rested her elbow on the table and let her blood run, listlessly watching as the red dripped over the curve of her palm and it filled up the saucer. She heard the kettle sing and winced, preparing herself; seconds later, a horrified “Dear God in Heaven!” rang through the room. 

Ignoring the cooks’ horrified gasps, the mage let half a tea-cup’s worth of blood drip onto the saucer. Forcefully pressing against the injury, she applied salve and wrapped it tightly, “A part of my magic,” She called over her shoulder, forcing a thin smile on her face, “I should have warned you more, and I apologize for that, but it isn’t too serious. Honest.”

She let out a breath as she slid the salt chips into the blood, watching as the white faded into a dull crimson. Ignoring the cooks’ worried and curious gazes over her shoulder, she deposited the chips equally throughout the vials. The healer added honey to her blood and mixed in the herbs, funneling the goopy salve into the glasses right after. A cook set a mug of tea to her side and she smiled at him, murmuring out her thanks as she used seven zinc corks to seal the vials. 

Raven sipped her tea and let her eyes flutter shut. After allowing herself a quick reprieve, she stood and packed the vials in her chest, strolling to the stairs. Prince Jason raised a brow at her as he passed, stopping and grabbing the box from her, “Allow me, won’t you?”

She grinned, “Acting like a proper gentleman, are we?” 

The prince smirked and he shrugged, “Where shall I put this?” Amethyst eyes glanced over him, her head tilting at the jumbled of emotions he emitted, but she shook her head of the thoughts. “To my room, if you wouldn’t mind.” 

They walked in silence, Jason’s gaze flicking to the salt chips and the blood that slowly began to pool underneath them to her freshly bandaged hand. Raven led him to her windowsill, “Just put them here, please.” He did as she said, crossing his arms and looking at her pointedly. The mage started to pull the vials out along the sill, a hum rumbling in her chest, “You might as well ask, my Prince.” Her gaze briefly met his before she went back to tending to her charms, “Suspicious silence will do neither of us well.” 

Jason leaned against the wall, “This is your blood?” 

She nodded, hearing rather than seeing him crack his jaw. He ran a hand through his hair, voice gruffer than usual, “How dangerous is blood magic?” Raven paused at his question, softly securing the vials in place. 

Delicately, she rose her face to meet his gaze, keeping her features as blank and unthreatening as possible. “Blood magic is incredibly dangerous,” She started, her fingers lacing and unlacing in front of her stomach. Emerald eyes flicked from her hands to her face and Jason swallowed thickly, worried. Raven lowered her voice, “You are right to be wary, fearful even. I’ve seen firsthand how devastating blood magic can be when left uncontrolled and how unbelievably efficient it is when used for evil. It can destroy a man’s mind in an instant if left unrestricted.”

Her words tried to speed up and she paused, taking a calming breath. Jason was patient as she steadied herself, gnawing at the inside of his cheek as she continued, “But charming talismans uses a different channel than pure blood magic. Instead of using the blood as a conductor, the salt is where the magic is both stored and released. Personally, I’ve never had to use direct blood magic; all my potions, including these, are impartial, usually for self defense.” 

“Then why do you need _our_ blood? None of my family has ever been exposed to this before.” His eyes narrowed, “You have to realize how you sound. Just… expecting us to completely go along with this when you’ve yet to live here a moon.” 

“I know.”

“Do you really?” His eyes were sharp and intense as he looked her over, “Richard and I spent a day with you when we were younger, and now Cassandra is enamored with you and the others seem to love your presence here. Does that seem long enough to _trust_ you? Especially with something as important as our lives.” 

Raven went to place a hand on his shoulder but hesitated, her hand hovering. She blinked twice, steeling herself and bringing her hands to her chest, “Do you not enjoy my presence, my Prince?”

His glower deepened and she added, “I’m not trying to be manipulative nor evasive. I need you to know that, despite my short stay, I have come to cherish each and every one of my relationships here.” The woman’s shoulders squared, “And I always perform to the best of my ability to protect those I care about. Prior to today, I’ve yet to have to use any potions here, but whenever I do, I add my blood. It acts like an additional reinforcement, keeping the magic in line and as safe as possible.”

Lilac eyes bored into his, “But you have every right to ask questions. And before you do, I’ll tell you this: I need your and your family’s blood in order to personalize the charms and intensify the healing effects. It’s the difference between stitching a wound and leaving it out to air versus wrapping it with a salve covered bandage. Both will heal, but the latter takes a fraction of the time. And both are some of the safest methods.”

The prince nodded, mulling her words over. Turning back to the window, Raven looked over her gardens, satisfied at how tall they had grown in the few short marks. A bird landed on the window sill and she nudged it out of the vials’ way, ensuring that the salt was exposed to the light. For a minute, she and Jason were silent, watching as the blood shimmered. The salt and light reacted to each other and the blood bubbled and foamed in response, leisurely filling the vials. 

Clearing her throat, the mage explained, “They’ll have to stay in the sun for another day, give or take a few marks. Then, when the vials are opened, the gas needs to be inhaled. I’ll say a blessing over each drop of blood and once they’re added to the vials it will protect each of you individually.” She fiddled with her rings, peeking a glance at his face, “These talismans are common in Azarath, called _potionaj saloj_. Uh, in english I believe they’re called salt potions. At least, I believe I’m translating correctly.” Raven paused, her brows furrowing a bit. Shaking her head, she fully turned to him, “Essentially, these are just vials of healing salve and smelling salts that have been enchanted.”

“Enchanted with blood magic.” 

Whether it was the growing acceptance on his face or the steady weakening of his more volatile emotions, Raven felt bold enough to lean up, pressing a hand to his arm. He raised a brow at her and she raised her chin, determined, “You’ve obviously had some experience with blood magic before. Experience that was obviously less than pleasant.” Her gaze flicked to the thin scar on his forehead then back to his eyes, noticing how they darkened. 

Unphased, the healer continued, “But I need you to have faith in _my_ magic. I came to Wayne Manor to _help_. I wouldn’t give you or anyone else any healing or charms that I wouldn’t use on myself. If you’re ever hesitant or suspicious about what I am doing, just ask me and I’ll explain everything as thoroughly as I can.” 

Jason nodded, straightened his back as he stared at her. The muscles of his jaw coiled, “What’s the worst case scenario for your talismans?” His eyes seemed to pulse as he gazed at the vials, “If they malfunction, what will happen? We’ll get knocked out? Burned?” 

He paused, gnawing at his cheek, “Death, maybe?”

Raven shook her head, the ends of her headscarf bouncing with the move, “Of course not. Only direct blood magic can kill, although indirect use can maim.” She bit her bottom lip, rolling it between her teeth, “If any of you encounter someone both powerful and experienced enough to deflect magic, then they could make the vial explode, perhaps even conjure up a noxious cloud of smoke, but nothing inherently fatal. The talismans themselves don’t contain enough magic for that.”

The prince considered her for a moment, then sighed. “Alright, Raven. If you’re sure that you’ve got control,” He forced a thin smile, the worry in his eyes still present but the tension in his shoulders releasing, “Then I trust you.” 

“Thank you, my Prince.” She let a honest smile stretch her lips and nodded at him as he turned on his heel to leave. “I appreciate your faith in me,” She called to his back, smiling when he gave her a mock salute, shutting her door behind him. 

She stood there for a moment, feeling the lingering push of emotions; both their hesitancy and fear, his anger and suspicion, the clash of her own horror and unease at the subject. The Azarathian wringed her hands, letting her eyes slide shut and humming out, “Azarath. Mentrion. Zinthos.” The tension in her shoulders loosened as she whispered the words, taking solace in the familiarity of the names against her lips rather than actually trying to meditate. Still, a vice gripped her heart as she replayed her conversation with Prince Jason in her mind. The mage hadn’t been exaggerating when she explained how _dangerous_ blood magic could be. 

Delusions, ravings, suffocation, incurable fevers, the scent of rotting garlic… A violent shiver ran through her and she turned away from the window, quickly dropping to her knees and opening one of the chests near her bed’s edge. Pulling out a few sticks of incense, she lit them all and deposited them around the room. 

Raven breathed in deeply, another “Azarath. Mentrion. Zinthos,” escaping her as the scent of sage and peppermint shoved aside the budding memories. Rolling her shoulders, she sat with her back against her bed and crossed her legs, beginning to meditate. 

Counting her breaths for nearly half a mark, she tossed her head back and let an annoyed huff escape her throat. Despite knowing for an absolute fact that the scent no longer lingered, she still smelled garlic. Her shoulders curled in and she hugged herself. Roughly squeezing her eyes shut, Raven started to sign to herself, murmuring the words as she did so, _You are safe. He is not here. Remember Azarath. Azarath, Azarath, Azarath._

Frantic footsteps fluttered past her door, then turned back around. Raven’s eyes snapped open and she kept signing to herself as she watched the light from the crack under the door, a small smile forming at the nervous way someone shifted their weight from foot to foot. Sighing heavily, the mage forced herself to stand, tiredly dabbing at her eyes with her headscarf. 

She opened the door and Cassandra nearly hit her in the face, her fist raised to knock. The princess jumped back a bit, an embarrassed blush flooding her cheek. “Hello, my Princess,” Raven greeted weakly, grateful for the distraction. She watched as the princess took in her reddening eyes and still trembling chapped lips, hoping that she wouldn’t ask. 

The royal noted and, after a soft sigh, decided against bringing the issue up, instead offering her arm, _We never went to the library_ , she signed. Cassandra tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, _It would be nice to not look at maps anymore. I am not keeping you from your magic…?_

Raven shook her head and took the royal’s arm, feeling a tiny smile slide onto her face. She let her head droop as they walked, a languid chuckle escaping as Cassandra walked on the tips of her toes so that their heads rested together. 

“Sir Alfred said your library is two levels tall,” Raven felt a small smile curl on her lips as the princess eagerly nodded. Her fingers drummed along Cassandra’s arm and she bit her lip at the firm press of muscle. “That’s incredibly impressive,” The mage was referring to the size of the library, of course, “I can hardly imagine having so many books stacked so high. In Azarath, our library is wide like the courtyard, lest they blow over when the weather gets bad.” A tinge of nervousness hit her empathy and the mage paused, looking down at the princess. She couldn’t see Cassandra’s face at this angle, but the way their pace suddenly quickened made her bite her lip. 

Without really realizing it, Raven started to hum as they walked along. She grinned as they walked past the paintings that decorated the hallway, her gaze focused on a portrait of the King’s parents. Smiling at their lovestruck painted faces, Raven was surprised when they stepped into the library, the full bookshelves replacing the decorated bricks. 

Gasping in awe, Raven rushed forward, spinning as she excitedly took in the massive library. “Cassandra!” She practically _sang_ the princess’ name, her face lighting up in delight, “Look at how marvelous this is!” Bookshelves lined the walls and even stood in columns in the middle of the room, displaying novels and dictionaries and myths for all to see. Raven spun around again, her skirts billowing as she clasped her hands together in front of her chest. She turned to beam at the princess, her cheeks flushed. 

Cassandra’s eyes widened at the mage’s enthusiasm, a blush reddening her own cheeks as she hesitantly looked around. A squeak escaped her as Raven grabbed her hand and began leading them to the staircase, nearly tripping on her skirts as she went. 

At the sight of all the art, the mage’s steps faltered, her breath catching in surprise. Cassandra lightly touched her back, confused, before the older woman shot forward, eagerly drinking in all the sculptures and paintings that lined the walls. Giggling, Raven leaned down to read the inscription of a bust depicting Sir Alfred at his knighting. She panted a bit as she leaned back on her haunches, drunk with happiness. 

She felt as Cassandra kneeled down next to her and cheekily turned her head, smiling at the woman. Noticing how the princess’ breath caught at her look, Raven asked, “We have quite a bit of time before dinner, my Princess.” She tilted her chin to the stairs and the treasures that the first level held, her violet eyes bright, “Do you have any suggestions?” Cassandra stiffened at the question, her eyes nervously flicking from the windows to the statue. Her shoulders tensed a bit and she looked away, unable to meet the healer’s eye. 

Raven blinked, confused at the splash of apprehension that washed over her empathy. She sat up straight and grabbed one of Cassandra’s hands, cradling it in between her palms. Violet eyes bore into the younger woman’s face, “My Princess?” Her voice was softer, careful, “Is something wrong?”

Sighing, the noble’s free hand tugged on her earlobe. Raven watched as she took a deep breath for courage, then pulled her hand away, signing out, _I am not the best reader_. 

The mage blinked again, relief flooding through her, “Oh. Is that the only thing that’s wrong?” 

Cassandra wriggled a bit, leaning in to rest her head on Raven’s shoulder. Angling her hands, she added, _Even when I read slowly, I still get the letters mixed up a lot_. She shrugged her shoulders, self consciously adding, _I’m sorry, but I can’t recommend anything besides stories the others have read to me._

Raven lazily turned her head, nuzzling her nose against the princess’ hair, “That’s okay. Do you have any favorite genres? So _I_ could read to you?” 

At Cassandra’s stunned silence, the mage chuckled, adding, “This is the first time I’ve been to the Manor’s library, my Princess. And it’s the first time I’m here with _you_. Your ability to read really isn’t a factor in why I enjoy the time we spend together.”

Pulling away, the Azarathian softly smiled at the awe on the princess’ face, grabbing her hand again. She stood, mindful to not step on either of their skirts, before smiling at Cassandra. “Do you know if there’s any poetry? Your brothers don’t seem the type but I’d love to read some to you.” She paused, her pale cheeks flushing just a shade darker, “Of course, that’s only if you like poetry, my Princess.” 

Cassandra nodded eagerly, a full, languid smile shaping her lips. They strolled down the staircase and wandered around, Raven quickly finding a collection of scrolls. Grabbing a large bundle of them, the mage marked where each was placed and let the princess lead them to one of the couches. As they sat Cassandra, feeling bold that their relationship wasn’t weakened from her confession, curled up next to the mage, tucking her head against her shoulder and entwining their arms. Raven rested her cheek against the royal’s temple and opened one of the poems. “Warsan Shire wrote this one,” She murmured to the princess, a lazy smile on her lips at the name. “It’s called ‘For Women Who are Difficult to Love.’ Sounds promising.” 

Cassandra chuckled and cuddled closer. Raven’s raspy voice was quiet in the air as she softly read aloud, “You are a horse running alone / and she tries to tame you / compares you to an impossible roadway / to a burning house / says you are blinding her / that she could never leave you / forget you / want anything but you / you dizzy her, you are unbearable / every woman before or after you / is doused in your name…”

Cassandra let her lashes flutter shut as Raven tenderly picked up another scroll. The mage sighed happily as she took in the multiple stanzas, her gaze flicking to the top of the princess’ head. Cassandra practically radiated comfort and, glad that she was a part of that happiness, Raven cleared her throat and started again, “I DID not deem it half so sweet / To feel thy gentle hand, / As in a dream thy soul to greet / Across wide leagues of land… Untouched more near to draw to you / Where, amid radiant skies, / Glimmered thy plumes of iris hue, / My Bird of Paradise.” The mage paused, turning her head to press a timid kiss to Cassandra’s hairline. 

Blushing, she hastily went back to reading before the princess could comment, “Let me dream only with my heart, / Love first, and after see: / Know thy diviner counterpart / Before I kneel to thee… So in thy motions all expressed / Thy angel I may view: / I shall not on thy beauty rest, / But beauty's self in you.”

Letting her head fall back, Raven shifted so Cassandra could curl up closer. They enjoyed a beat of silence before the healer broke it, “George William Russell wrote that one.” The princess could hear the older woman’s smile as she teased, “Mister Russell must’ve been quite a romantic, huh?” Her hands brought back the top of the scroll, pale fingertips tracing the title’s letters, “He even named it ‘Dream Love.’”

She sighed, her head resting on Cassandra’s as they listened to the creak of the windows. The princess touched the inside of Raven’s wrist hopefully, asking, _Are there more?_ Mahogany eyes brightened and then slid shut at the mage’s nod. Delicately, Cassandra inched her fingers lower on the older woman’s hand, her breath catching as she intertwined their fingers. Raven squeezed her hand and began to read again, nearly identical smiles crossing their faces. 

The noble listened as Raven read poem after poem, her dreamy voice full of warmth as they sat on the couch for what felt like hours. Richard and Timothy found them some time later, the two men practically bouncing on their heels as they knocked on the wall. The eldest prince’s voice was annoyingly chipper as he sang out, “Hey, lovebirds! Dinner’ll be ready in less than five minutes!”

Raven blushed bright pink and Cassandra, embarrassed, buried her face in the mage’s shoulder at their teasing. The princess rudely waved them away, sticking her tongue out when Timothy blew them a kiss. Snickering, Richard pulled his brother away, calling over his shoulder, “Make sure Alfred won’t see any marks on you two, or you might not get dessert!” 

Timothy giggled out, “I don’t know, Richard. They’ve been in here how long? I think they’ve already had _dessert_.” Richard boomed out a peal of laughter at that, his hands holding his stomach. Ignoring the embarrassed squeaks that his comment caused, Timothy laughed as he followed his older brother out the library, their loud voices trailing away. 

Cassandra sheepishly rubbed at her earlobe, unable to meet Raven’s gaze. She moved to stand and gasped as the mage pulled her back down. Pale fingers slid in between her tanned ones and brought their joined hands up. Raven kissed Cassandra’s knuckles, pleading, “Just one more? This last one’s quite short.”

Blushing even darker, the princess nodded, hiding her grin behind her hair as Raven practically hummed out, “The stars about the lovely moon / Fade back and vanish very soon, / When, round and full, her silver face / Swims into sight, and lights all space.”

Beaming, Raven reached up to tuck a piece of hair behind the princess’ ear. Cassandra let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, her lips threatening to tremble as Raven stood, pulling her up. Sneakily, the taller woman held out her arm and the princess took it. 

Cassandra had to lead them to the Hall as they went, a jovial, relieved laugh escaping when Raven murmured in her ear, “That one was called ‘The Moon,’ by Sappho. She’s known for her love of women.” The princess tucked a stray end of the mage’s headscarf back in place as they walked, her smile blinding. 

They were a blushing, giggling mess when they came upon the Hall and had to take a moment to calm down. Raven opened the door to let the princess in first, both pointedly ignoring Timothy and Richard as the men giggled like schoolchildren at their red cheeks. 

Dinner was a quick affair, with the Waynes briefly talking on their routes. Once Sir Alfred’s plan to visit Arkham’s Square the day before they left was laid out, the King put his attention on the Azarathian. To everyone’s surprise, he used her to talk about trivialities, taking all their minds off the looming threat that they couldn’t yet solve. 

Nearly a mark later Raven helped the cooks clear the table and left quickly, intent to check on the salt potions. She flirtingly waved at Cassandra as the princess retired to her room, knowing that all of the royals needed to check and recheck the information they needed to obtain. As she passed the entryway, the healer’s brows jumped at the light still in the sky. Realizing that her talismans could wait, the mage wandered around, her mind flickering from thought to thought, all inevitably leading back to Cassandra.

The Manor’s beautiful architecture, her magical herbs, how she had been slacking in cutting up fruit for the birds, her future reunion with her mother, Azarath’s vulnerability, how that vulnerability would be destroyed if Azarath and Gotham were permanent allies, how much fun the Waynes would have visiting Azarath, how amazing it would be to go from being an only child to having four brothers, the chaotic mess of a ceremony that would happen if she were to marry a certain Wayne… 

Catching herself before she sunk even further, Raven shook her head to dismiss the idea (and _oh_ , what a wonderful idea it was!) and looked up, hearing footsteps approach. She pinched right under her gem, feeling a surge of emotions and a headache begin to bloom behind her eyelids. Damian slid past her as he made his way out of the kitchen. Biting her lip, she decided that her headache could wait and impulsively called out, “Prince Damian!”

He stopped, turning to look at her over his shoulder. While he did nothing but raise a brow at her, she had to hold back a gasp at the twinge of pain, feeling it hit her emphatic shield. Softly, she sighed at the intensity, a small smile nonetheless curling her lips at the knowledge that her recent prolonged alone time with the princess was the reason for her empathy’s more delicate state. Moving the thought aside, she rolled her shoulders, ignoring the broadcasted pain to the best of her ability as she walked up to him. 

The prince crossed his arms and she went to put a hand on his ribs. When he dodged, then hissed as his injury was stretched, she glowered at him. “My Prince,” Despite being focused on Cassandra, Raven had been suspicious all throughout dinner and now her voice was low yet stern as she finally got a chance to admonish the youngest prince, “You should know better than to hide an injury. Especially if you are to travel soon.”

He snorted and turned to leave. She touched his arm and repeated, “My Prince.” He glowered at her and started to stalk away, grumbling under his breath as she followed. Raven tried her best to remember the twists and turns they walked on, questioning, “Will it always be this difficult? Finding out that you’re injured?” 

“I don’t require healing. Go away.” 

“Prince Damian,” Her voice was strict and she placed a firm hand on his shoulder, “You should know that I’m an empath, alright? I can feel that you’re hiding pain near your ribs. Now, you don’t have to tell me _why_ , but you _do_ have to let me help. That’s what I’m here for.” 

They glared at each other for a moment. Damian rolled his jaw from side to side, exasperated. “Fine!” Pinching between his eyes, he motioned down the hallway, “To the kitchen, then?”

“To my room first,” At her instruction he begrudgingly held out an arm. A thin smile curled on her lips at the gesture. Raven slyly teased, “Have I finally gotten through to you or is there a chance Sir Alfred stumbles upon us?” 

He rolled his eyes at her, although the corners of his lips curled just a bit. “I _am_ a prince, you know.” Their eyes met and she raised a brow, holding in her excitement when his shoulders loosened. Bounding up the stairs two at a time, Raven let them into her room, surprised when the boy sat at her desk. He glanced over the furniture, taking note of all the crumpled up pages she had yet to throw away before he spun around, facing the center of the room. His tanned hands picked at his belt. 

The mage paused in collecting her salve and bandages, “What are you doing, my Prince?”

Damian’s olive eyes met hers and he deadpanned, “You interrupted me so that I could be healed.” 

Something in his stony features made her smile as she turned back to her window, quickly checking on the salt potions. Her lips tilted into a smile, “The ribs are a vulnerable spot when it comes to healing, Prince Damian.” Pale fingers started to fold up the bandages and she balanced a box of stitching needles on top of the material, “It’s best if you do not move all too much once you’re all bandaged up.” 

Her thumb pointed to the door, “I was planning on healing you in your room.” At his tensing, she narrowed her eyes, “Or the library or the Hall. As long as you won’t move around after.” 

She walked up to him and offered her hand, “Unless you have something to hide… my Prince?”

Damian stood and pulled her along. She watched as he clenched his jaw, considering his options. They turned a corner and kept the path to his room. A rough sigh escaped him and he growled out, “This stays between us, understood? No one, not father, not Alfred, not even Cassandra can know.” The mage nodded, curious. 

Rolling his neck, Damian pushed his door open and walked inside. Raven followed, her eyes widening almost comically as she took in the sheer amount of animals within. The young prince shut the door as a mountain lion cub strolled forward to rub against her leg, purring as its back arched. The mage held her hands to her chest, her breath catching in her throat. 

Damian snorted and leaned down to pick up the cub, silently hissing through his teeth as he did so. That caught the healer’s attention again and she carefully walked to his desk, mindful to not step on any tails. Holding her breath as she tiptoed behind an impossibly large elephant calf (desperately racking her mind if any elephants even lived in the country, let alone on the _continent_ ) and laid out her supplies on the desk. Damian shrugged off his tunic and she pursed her lips, taking in the three parallel slices that marred his skin. 

Her eyes flicked up to his face for a moment before she began applying salve to the bandages. For once, Damian offered information without being pressed, “There’s a straggly, disjointed pack of adolescent cougars near the far end of Arkham. I found _her_ ,” He tilted his chin to a beautiful, if thin, cougar resting alongside one of the family’s hunting dogs, “Near a bear carcass. Scooped her up but one of the younger males thought I was taking the meat and attacked.” 

Pinching in between her brows, Raven rubbed at the edges of her pyrope. Her mouth opened to question him, but she thought better of herself, instead asking, “Does _anyone_ know about the animals you keep? I mean, really, my Prince… how are you keeping them so calm and colle-- _oh my Azar is that a snake?!_ ” Scuttling closer, she harrumphed and brushed down her skirts, still on edge as she kept the reptile in her sight, “You’re not stupid, my Prince. That elephant alone is going to outgrow the stable within a year.” 

Damian went to cross his arms but stopped, sharply inhaling at the stretch of his cuts. Raven began to stitch up his wounds, all but jumping up onto his desk as she did. Trying her hardest to stay stoic despite the elephant batting one of its floppy ears against her ankle, the mage wrapped the bandages around his torso. They sat in silence as she worked, Damian’s scarred hands softly picking up a tortoise and rubbing the top of its shell.

“The stablehands are incompetent.” 

A brow arched over the Azarathian’s eye as she reinforced her work with another wrap around, “Are they now?” The horses appeared well fed and properly brushed when she had arrived, but she hadn’t looked very closely, nor did she have a proper frame of reference. Damian ran a hand over his face, “Father’s first wife, she focused more on the smaller animals in the Manor than the work beasts. There used to be cats lounging all over, actually,” He barked out a humorless laugh. His olive eyes looked over his room and he rubbed his fingers together, beckoning the mountain lion cub over as he continued, “Once I could walk I practically slept at the stables every night. Well, eventually Father got tired of that and now I have a personal barn of my own.” 

Olive eyes met violet and a wry smile stretched the prince’s lips, “As long as I get them young, I introduce each to the barn one by one. If I move them at night, there aren’t any fights and the stablehands are none the wiser.” 

Chuckling, Raven nodded as she looked over her handiwork. After a pause she patted his ribs, satisfied when the touch didn’t make him wince. The mage sat up straight and made a move to slide off the desk. She paused when the prince touched her knee. “Wait,” He said, narrowing his eyes at her, “One more thing.”

The mage folded her hands in her lap as he stood, their position making them nearly the same height. Her brows furrowed in concern, “Don’t agitate your ribs too much, my Prince.” 

“Doesn’t matter.” He pointed a finger at her, his figure looming as he glared, “You and Cassandra are taking the route closest to Azarath. I suppose you already knew?” At her nod, his glare deepened and he leaned in, his stance threatening, “Then you should also know that that was _my_ original route. Now, I honestly don’t care about Cassandra’s reasons, but she is enamored with you.”

Ignoring the woman’s growing blush, he added, “So you better not mess up. Cassandra has been happier since you have arrived. Happier than I’ve _ever_ seen her. And while all of us might be okay with you being so _unprofessional_ in your short stay here, you need to know that if you break her heart I will _end_ you. And there’s nothing my family can do to stop me.” He punctuated his words with a snarl, his eyes boring into hers. 

Raven’s eyes widened at the threat. Her fingers laced and unlaced above her stomach. Although everything in her screamed to look at the floor, she hesitantly met the boy’s intense gaze head on, her blush deepening as she weakly countered, “But Cassandra and I are not--”

“Shut up. I didn’t give up my route so you two could continue bullshitting around.” 

“ _Language_ , my Prince.”

“ _Cowardice_ , you healer. Stop skirting around the issue and let her know your intentions during this trip.” Leaning back on his heels, he grabbed her wrist and urged her to the door. Damian all but pushed her out (well, as much as a prince _could_ push a lady) and hesitated before he shut his door, his hands on the frame. 

Looking the older woman over, he snorted, unimpressed at whatever he noticed, “And _kiss her_ for God’s sake. Meals with you two are becoming absolutely unbearable.”

She squeaked in surprise and he smirked, shutting the door in her face.


	6. Introducing the One-Eyed Stableshow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just who is the Cyclops?

Alfred hummed an old sailor's tune as he walked along the heart of Arkham’s Square, the air practically buzzing as people went about their busy days. The familiar knot of excitement laid in his stomach, brightening his mood despite the family’s recent conversations about the cycloped man. It was fortunately rare that the Wayne family ever had to deal with such threats, yet alone ones so connected that they required coordination to merely find a piece of the whole picture. Although he hadn’t formally fought since his retirement, the knight was primed for battle if it came to him. 

Another flutter swelled in his torso as he sidestepped a food cart; this time, his heart ballooned with pride. He had taught all the Waynes well and while he knew that the chance that any of them had to fight for this particular recon mission was low, Alfred was confident that they all would prevail as they had previously. He raised a brow as one of the servants returned to his side, the new axe-grinding stone and blade finish in his possession. 

Alfred nodded at the young man, “Wait for me at the carriage, will you? I just need to grab some more travelling candles.” Turning towards the building, he called to the servant’s back, “Prep the horses, I’ll just be a few minutes!” 

He stepped inside, taking note of but ignoring the other customers as he strode to the counter, grinning as he caught the shopkeeper’s eye. He rubbed his mustache as he quickly filled his basket: travelling candles, torches, screws and nails for any unforeseen carriage repairs, four extra horseshoes, and nearly twenty thin vials of lighting fluid. Their bags had been packed for over half a day now, but Alfred was anything but unprepared. The shopkeeper boomed out his powerful laugh as Alfred set his items on the counter, “Sir Alfred! It’s been a while since I’ve seen you!”

Alfred chuckled, “We haven’t seen each other in only two moons.”

“Well, yes,” Rubbing at the back of his head, the broad shouldered man grinned at the knight, “But with how busy those wards of yours keep you, I expect to see you around every half moon.” He scratched his chin as he set about counting the cost, “Like when you first started teaching them how to fight.”

The knight laughed outright at that, silently musing that he could probably find where all the medical supplies were by memory alone. He turned to the aisle where the stitching needles had always been kept and briefly locked eyes with a hooded man, his scraggly beard doing nothing to hide his busted lip. 

One brow raising in question, Alfred turned back to the shopkeeper, worriedly taking note of how many people browsed the store. The hooded man tried to subtly walk into another aisle but kept his stare steady on the back of the knight’s head, making the ends of Alfred’s ears tingle. Leaning in to rest his elbow on the counter, the knight muttered to his old friend, “The man near the archery strings, in the brown hood. Have you ever seen him before?” 

A quick glance up from his calculations, “Never.” The shopkeeper frowned, relieved to see the man stop staring and sneak out the door, “He’s gone now. Robber, perhaps?” He bit the inside of his cheek and Alfred watched as he took out a dagger and tucked it in between the torches, his beard shifting as he forced a grin, “Just in case, yeah?”

Alfred nodded, paying and shaking the shopkeeper’s hand before sneaking out the back entrance, his shoulders tense and his mind alert. The dagger’s hilt was smooth against his palm as he made his way back to the cart. Luckily, no one seemed to follow him, let alone confront him. The servant raised a brow in confusion as Alfred snuck onto the cart, his lips tightening in a thin line at the worry in the knight’s voice when he demanded, “Pretend I am not here. Back to the Manor. Get there as quickly as possible, please.” 

Thinking better of himself, he added, “I’ll watch to ensure we aren’t being followed.”

The horses whined softly as they set off, their trots steady as they headed back home. As the carriage crossed the town’s edge and into the forest, Alfred narrowed his eyes at the sight of the Jester’s Harlequin stepping out of the crowd. Her blonde hair was free for once, tumbling down her back as she leaned her elbow against the hooded man’s shoulder. Her eyes were impossibly wide as she stretched her arm out to wave at the carriage, her lips splitting in a maniacal grin. 

Her shrieking laugh bubbled out of her and echoed in the air, the sound making the horses jump and Alfred clutch his dagger, considering his options. He would be outnumbered if he went back to warn his friend, the servant would be left vulnerable to the hooded man if the two split up, and all those oblivious civilians could get caught in the chaos… 

A sigh of relief escaped the old man when the Harlequin abruptly turned on her heel, walking back into the throng of people on the opposite end of the square. Gray eyes watched the bloody crimson of her clothes and the bounce in her hair as she went, the hooded man scratching his chin and following her steps right after. Alfred’s shoulders drooped for a moment then straightened out, confident that Arkham’s Square had enough experience to avoid any deadly fights. 

Leaning towards the front of the carriage, he urged the servant, “Let them run. We need to get back _immediately_.”

\--

Bruce stood at the head of the table, looking down at the map of Gotham. All around the Hall lay maps, pens, and pins. His eyes retraced his route, the closest path towards Blackgate, and rolled his shoulders, his eyes flicking to the sky. The sun was starting to set and his jaw clenched and unclenched, a nervous tick. 

Where was Alfred? Granted, he wasn’t due back for another half mark, but the old man preferred to be early in all his tasks. His lips pursed, eyes taking in Arkham’s position and where the Square lay in the grid. Alfred would be back soon. 

His thoughts were interrupted when Raven softly opened the Hall’s doors, Cassandra by her side. They each carried a box in their arms, Raven’s clinking with glass vials and Cassandra’s full of freshly picked herbs. A smirk slid over the patriarch’s lips at the flushed hue to his daughter’s cheeks, glad that she was happy despite the tense air. 

Raven clapped her hands together, grinning proudly as she placed the box on the table. She looked at her talismans; they faintly buzzed as they neared completion, the salt frothy and the corks tense at the buildup of air. “Alright,” She started, gathering the royal family’s attention, “Once Sir Alfred returns, I’ll take a drop of blood from each of you and the potions’ effects will officially start.” 

She turned to Jason and smiled softly, “The gas needs to be inhaled, then the paste of blood, salt, and herbs will do the rest.” He nodded stiffly, a thankful tilt on his lips. Turning to the other nobles, she added, “I can finish in a quarter of a mark if I rush.” The mage set the vials on the table and picked up a flat, thin strand of twine. It was triple braided, nearly the width of a wax stamp but half as thick. Pale hands looped it in a circle before she spoke, “Cassandra, could you come here for a moment?” 

Carefully, she measured the strand against the princess’ wrist until it was snug against her skin. Raven stuck the ends together with a pin and cut the piece off, moving to measure the other Waynes. When she was measuring the king Alfred stalked in, a worried look on his features. He held up a hand, bidding his now nervous wards to wait as he headed towards the kitchen. His voice carried as he called out to the servants, “You two, go to the barracks and tell the men that they must patrol the Manor tonight. I want all entrances into the Manor and into the granaries covered _and_ all the heavily travelled routes patrolled until the Waynes and I return, understood?” 

Finishing her measurements, Raven tapped the king’s side and watched, anxious, as he made his way to the kitchen. “Recheck your routes,” Bruce advised to his children, stopping as the knight reappeared. Alfred sighed and motioned for the king to sit again, standing at his side. The old man glanced at the mage, “I assume you were making measurements, Miss Raven?”

At her nod, he waved her over, “You can do your work as we talk.” Raven kept her head down as she laid the twine along the old knight’s krist, tying off the strand once she was certain the size was correct. Above her, Alfred pinched in between his brows, his shoulders sagging tiredly, “The Harlequin was in Arkham.” 

The room paused at his declaration. Jason let out a violent sigh, running his hands through his hair, “Where in Arkham?” His voice was rough and pained as he glowered at the old man. Richard placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, “Jason…”

The second born prince paid his brother no mind, demanding, “Alfred, _where was she_?” 

“She waved at the carriage as we were leaving the Square. Her and this man, one of the Jester’s followers; he was watching me when I was in the store.” Rubbing at his mustache, Alfred added, “They turned towards Arkham’s center and I saw no trace of them following us back.”

Damian rubbed at his temples, “We can’t be complacent, then. The Jester knows that we fight criminals, he may attack the Manor.”

Cassandra pursed her lips, _Do you think the Jester is finally trying to arm his followers?_ At Timothy’s sharp inhale, she looked around, her eyes narrowing at the grim faces of her family, _Arkham only has mechanical surpluses. No granaries, no farmland… Unless he wants to expand Blackgate’s territory, what else would the Harlequin be there for?_

“Perhaps this is more of the Cyclops’ doing?”

All eyes flicked to the mage and she blushed, lightly wringing her hands as she paused in preparing the herbs. Looking around at their expectant faces, Raven offered, “If the Cyclops really _is_ as dangerous as you all think, perhaps he is has been pestering the Jester to upgrade his army so they’re up to par with the skilled fighters he’s so bent on hiring.”

Bruce furrowed his brows, adding to her thought, “And even if the Cyclops and the Jester aren’t working together, there would still be a need to keep the Cyclops from getting confident enough to try to take over Blackgate.” Rolling his jaw, the king looked over the map of Gotham again, “That’s still an unprecedented influx of _armed_ , dangerous criminals running afoul.” 

Timothy finally spoke up, “So we have to keep the plan, right?”

He raised a brow at his father, “We need to know _exactly_ how much Cyclops and the Jester are working together. This is either us fighting their combined forces _or_ Jester against Cyclops against us.” Shaking his head, he deadpanned, “I don’t think we can plan anything unless we know for certain. Too many people will be put in harm’s way if we don’t.”

Bruce grunted in agreement, turning to Richard when he spoke, “The sun’s starting to set.” The prince’s brows inched up as he asked, “Are the talismans ready yet?” Raven jumped at being addressed, hastily ficking her eyes to the prince. 

“Once you all are at a stopping point I’ll prepare a kettle of hot water and we can begin,” she said. As she spoke, she pulled out seven identical needles, all made of bone, and her block of salt. Hastily, she picked up her skirts and hurried into the kitchen, leaving the others to their musings. Raven reappeared a few minutes later, carefully holding a bowl, an old drying cloth, and the still steaming kettle in her hand. 

Cassandra sat next to her, watching curiously as the healer chiseled off thin sheets of salt and lined the bowl with the chips. Grabbing the freshly minced herbs, she used the tip of each needle to cut open its own clove of garlic. Pouring half a kettle’s worth of boiling water into the cup, she hummed out a prayer, her head bowed. She dipped the garlic scented tips of the needles in the bowl’s contents, handing them out to the royals right after. “Prick your fingers,” She demanded, “The solution should bring plenty of blood to the surface, so you don’t need to squeeze.” 

Her empathy felt their amusement at being ordered around, and then the surprise and slight concern when the pyrope in her forehead gleamed an even brighter crimson, pulsating with her heartbeat as her lashes slid shut. Without opening her eyes, the mage questioned, “Will each of you grab a vial, please?”

Counting out her breath, she murmured, “On my word, open the corks and inhale the gas. Then, once the dizziness has gone away, let a drop of blood drop into the vials and place them in the bowl. The tops should be just higher than the water level.” Feeling rather than hearing Damian’s questions, she added, “As long as you remember which vial is yours you won’t need the corks again. And there’s no time limit, but do be careful not to rush and drop them.”

Taking a deep breath through her nose, Raven peeked one eye open to check the solution. Slivers of the herbs mingled with the garlic on the surface; as they floated, the cloves opened like flowers, their earthy scent almost tangible as it reacted to the salt. Biting back her satisfied smile, she announced, “You can open the corks now.” 

The seven did as she said, rubbing at their watering eyes as the intensity of the gases hit their noses. Alfred coughed and Bruce shook his head, blinking rapidly. The younger fighters didn’t seem to be as affected, instead staring in confusion as the talismans began to glow in tune with her gem as their blood was added, the salt condensing into pebble-sized blocks. 

All seven vials were placed in the water and, unseen by the glass fogging up, small droplets of the bowl’s mixture slowly seeped through the glass. Raven grinned and laid out the old rad, softly depositing the vials on the cloth. Laying out Jason’s length of twine, grabbed his vial and let the bloody salt block slide onto the strand. She held out her palm, “Your needle, Prince Jason?” Using the pointed end, the mage meticulously broke the blocks apart and spread the damp paste out along half of the twine. She sealed the talisman in half lengthwise, tucking one end underneath the kettle. 

Continuing for all the others’ charms, Raven ensured that all had been sealed properly and that all had one end warmed by the kettle’s lingering heat. The mage stood and nodded at the princess, “I’ll be right back.” Cassandra raised a brow when Raven disappeared into the kitchen, reappearing a minute later with an uncorked jug in her arms. 

Together, the two women poured the salty garlic-herb mixture into the jug. Cassandra ignored her brothers looking over her shoulder and sat down next to where the healer stood, curious as Raven pulled Jason’s talisman out from underneath the kettle. 

The Azarathian raised a brow at the prince, “You’re right hand dominant, right?” At the prince’s nod she neatly tied the charm around his wrist, the heat securely sealing the ends together right above his pulse. One by one she fastened the twine to the nobles’ wrists, her gem steadily losing its glow as she did so. 

Crossing her legs underneath her, Raven let her empathy give way to her magic, feeling the press on the talismans against her emotional shield. Nodding to herself, she looked up and beamed at the Waynes, “All done. They should last for four full days.” Tugging at the ends of her headscarf, the mage added, “Even if the talismans get torn off you’ll still have some residual healing effects. But all increased immunity hinges on physical contact to the spell.”

Damian clicked his tongue as he prodded at the twine, standing up. He tilted his chin towards the Hall’s doors, “Shall we check on the soldiers before we go? The sun’s been setting for a while.” His olive eyes looked over the others, “We need to leave within the next mark if we don’t want to be throw off our schedule.” 

\--

“ _Again!_ ” 

Slade’s voice was murderous as he glowered down at the two convicts, a vein pulsing in his forehead. The Jester lounged on the table a few strides away, his eyes flicking from Slade to his followers. Blankly, he wondered how his Harlequin was doing on her mission, hoping that she didn’t have _too_ much fun without him. 

Causing panic in Arkham sounded so much better than watching criminals beat each other to near death. Especially with Slade barking over them like a cockfight announcer; the Jester felt his lips curl, his already damp mood worsening when Slade kicked the heftier of the two men in the ribs, growling out, “Not good enough. Go at it _again_!”

Casually, the Jester laid flat on the table, tucking his hands behind his head. The map of Gotham was clear in his mind’s eye and he furrowed his brows, picturing _exactly_ where the Manor lay on the landscape. His Harlequin could’ve attacked the Manor’s walls so easily, put all of those Waynes on edge before their little ‘informant mission.’ Sure, doing so would throw a log into their plans, but when was the last time he had _legitimately_ terrorized the royal family?

Unwittingly, his emerald eyes slid to Slade again, quickly jumping over to the pile of weapons that lay in the corner of the tent. The longbows, javelins, and lances were completely opposite from the usual daggers and occasional fauchard that his followers preferred. 

Slade roughly beckoned for another of his hires, a bow-legged man whose impossibly broad shoulders were offset by his skinny calves. The Jester leaned his chin on his palm as he watched the man saunter up; he had taken to calling him Turkey Legs. 

As soon as he was within arms’ distance Turkey Legs didn’t hesitate, springing forward and pinning both convicts to the ground. Used to such violence, the Jester didn’t shy away when Turkey Legs’ fist shattered one of the men’s eye socket. Slade nodded approvingly and the heavier one tried to scuttle away on his back. Turkey Legs used his name to his advantage, sweeping out his thin calves and taking out the man’s kneecap. The Jester raised a brow, his head tilting thoughtfully at the unnatural press of bone against the skin. Had the bone shattered, the skin probably would have been pierced; it was too bad, the sight of bone peeking out would've been _wonderfully_ barbaric. Slade’s upper lip curled when Turkey Legs went for another punch, the one-eyed man easily pulling his hire up by his hair and tossing him to the side.

“Do _not_ waste energy on someone you’ve already defeated.”

Squaring his shoulders, Slade shifted his gaze to the Jester, his eyes narrowing, “Who are your best fighters?” He roughly nudged the first man’s temple with his boot, sneering at the blood that seeped from his eye socket and pooled around his head. “These faire freaks aren’t worth the soles of my boot when it comes to fighting. _Pathetic_.”

His eye narrowed at the Jester’s nonchalant blink and Slade ran a hand through his hair, frustrated, “Are _any_ of your fighters as trained as your Harlequin?”

The Jester sat up and playfully rubbed his chin, grinning widely despite Slade’s increasing irritation. He hummed in thought and leaned back, bearing his weight on his palms. “We prefer using weapons in this mad little stableshow of ours,” The words fell out of his lips in a drawl and he lazily tilted his head back. He ignored Slade’s intense stare, all too aware that the one-eyed man was almost certainly considering the costs of slitting his throat. 

The Jester’s grin split even further, the bloody gums of his teeth on display as he pitched forward, wagging his finger teasingly, “Don’t forget that you _need_ me, Wilson. No stabbing just yet!”

Slade’s jaw tensed. “Oh!” The Jester tilted his head to the side, mockingly closing his eyes and bowing his head towards the cycloped man without standing up, “I meant to say, no stabbing just yet, _my Lord_.”

Snickering, he lounged back down, his chin tilting to two more of his followers. “You two,” He sang out to them, smirking at how their cheeks paled, “Drop your weapons. This fine gentleman needs a challenge, eh?” Green eyes flicked to Turkey Legs and then to Slade. The Jester let out a laugh, clapping his hands like a faire headmaster as he propped his legs up. 

A pale finger twirled in the air, “ _Again!_ ” 

\--

Raven shakily smiled as she looked up at her mare, its incredibly dark brown eyes seemingly boring into her. The two stared at each other for a moment, blinking as they determined that the other was trustworthy. The mage jumped a bit as Cassandra softly touched her back, her pale hands instinctively coming up to clasp in front of her chest. The princess gave her a small smile as she set about tying their bags onto the saddle, being careful as she strung the twine around the mage’s pine chest. 

Charmingly, the royal held out her hand and helped Raven up into the saddle. The healer flushed a bit, her gaze lingering on the younger woman’s oh-so-snug armor for a beat too long. When Cassandra kept her hand resting on her knee, Raven leaned down to brush aside a lock of the princess’ hair out of her face. 

Rolling his eyes, Damian clicked his tongue at them, “Don’t forget the _mission_ , you two.” Jolting up at the interruption, the mage tightly grabbed the reins and sat up straight. Her mare shifted underneath her and Raven reached up to run her fingers through its mane. She walked her steed to the stable's doors, taking deep, steadying breaths as she watched the others mount their stallions.

Raven rolled her shoulders as Cassandra rode up next to her. Together, they watched as Timothy, Jason, and Bruce headed eastward, the clop of hooves striking like thunder against the ground. Raven didn’t bother to ask how far along they would travel until the three split up, her attention drawn to Alfred and Damian as they set off towards the direction of Arkham.

“You both ready?” For once, Richard’s voice was low, somber as he urged his horse on. He nodded at one of the stablehands and the three took off, the siblings keeping Raven in between them as they headed westward. As they easily slipped into the shadow of the forest, Raven looked up and savored the moon’s light as they urged their horses to a steady trot. 

Aside from the occasional hoot from an owl and the chirping scream of its victims, the forest was quiet. The dull thrum that the night brought was muted underneath the thunder of the horses’ steps; with the nearly silent scraping of bugs marching their way along the brush, the rustling snores of the daytime animals sleeping, and the violent shaking of fur as all the nocturnal life came out, all of them heard but none of them saw the activity just off the edge of the trail. 

Luck seemed to be on their side, at least. 

After nearly three marks of riding, Raven’s eyes sleepily snapped open as they began to round a sloping corner, her nose curling in disgust as a stench wafted over them. She saw as Richard waved at the air and covered his nose and heard as Cassandra smothered her cough. “We’re getting close,” Richard called over his shoulder, slowing his horse to a trot as the corner opened to a patch. 

The mage covered the bottom of her face with her headscarf, fighting back a gag as the odor hit her full force. Her mare whined but continued on, hastily trotting past the rotting tree stumps and the horseflies that buzzed above them. Richard cleared his throat as they reached the fork just past the patch. His blue eyes met Cassandra’s and he nodded at his sister, leading his steed southwest.

The princess spurred on her horse, continuing on the original trail. In the quiet of the night, both she and Raven could hear the fading thuds of the man’s steed, the sound nearly as loud as thunder in the air. Cassandra kept her senses alert as she urged her stallion into a trot, a smile curling her lips when the mage followed her lead. 

Quietly, Raven rode alongside the royal, her gaze flicking up to the sky again. She kept her voice low as she asked, “How spread apart are your routes? They can’t be more than a day’s travel away.”

Cassandra’s brows raised at the question, _Father’s route is the furthest from ours. It’s two days apart, maybe two and a half if the weather’s bad._ Mahogany eyes looked the mage over, confused. _Why?_ , she signed, her brows scrunching together.

Raven didn’t answer at first, instead resting her hands on the top of the saddle. She slowly rubbed the pads of her thumbs over the leather, biting the inside of her cheek. After a pause, she murmured, “I've been thinking about Cyclops and the Jester and how much damage they could cause.” 

She noticed but didn't react to how the princess shifted in her saddle. Instead, she took a deep breath, her words flowing out as quickly as she would allow them, “Gotham is large, but it's not infinite. There's so much arable land and wilderness around… Azarath's seasonal routes have allowed me to see so much of what this country has to offer.” 

Catching herself, she amended, “Nature-wise, of course.” Mauve eyes glanced at Cassandra for a moment. Hesitantly, as if worried about the response she'd get, the mage continued, “I just… so much of the world beyond humans relies on balance. I've heard about the Jester's nighttime fire attacks, my Princess; they're never in areas that can support such a massive destruction of life. Have you ever been to the border recently? The one that separates Gotham from Tamaran’s desert?” 

Raven's gaze was intense as she looked to the fighter, even as her shoulders drooped at the thought, “The life is floundering on Gotham's side. The river silt only picks up nutrients at the end of the range, right near where Blackgate lies. But everywhere in between is just desolate and unable to sustain natural life.”

Cassandra pitched forward and touched the older woman’s shoulder, a concerned look on her face. _You keep specifying nature_ , she observed. Situating herself back onto her steed, the princess waited patiently as Raven sighed, her head falling back as she stared longingly at the moon. The mage swallowed thickly and closed her eyes tightly. Quietly, she spoke, “The balance that affects nature has a counterbalance in magic.”

Raven set her shoulders, watching as a moth darted out from the brush, “Magic, particularly blood magic, thrives in the absence of life. Those talismans I made,” Mauve eyes flicked to the royal’s wrist then back to her face, “The salt keeps the herbs from shriveling and dying too quickly. Unless there’s someone or something there to control it, blood magic kills off simple life in an instant and sentient life in less than a mark.” 

Cassandra watched as the mage grasped onto the saddle, her already pale knuckles turning white, “The garlic is the gatekeeper, my Princess; it holds everything together but when blood magic corrupts, the garlic, the _insanity_ , it just-- _Azar_ , it just overwhelms _everything_. And while the scent sticks to magical objects in the area everything that was once alive starts to wilt.” Raven sadly traced her eyes over a passing tree’s branches, her back hunching a bit as she tried to contain her emotions. 

The princess furrowed her brows, _Does that include all places with dead life?_ She looked worried when Raven nodded. Quickly, her hands questioned, _I’d imagine cemeteries, but also dead patches of land too? Are dead gardens and hospitals full of blood magic as well?_

The healer paused to think, “Well, the difference between _dark_ magic and _blood_ magic isn’t that large; they’re quite similar. They affect the world in the same way, but I suppose the easiest way is to remember that blood magic needs blood. So dark magic for simple life, like plants and insects and their environments, and blood magic for humans and animals.”

Cassandra bit her lip, _Do you think the Cyclops is using any kind of magic?_

Raven ran a hand over her face and the princess took in her hesitation, but decided to push anyway, _What aren’t you telling me?_

The mage sighed, “My Princess…”

The royal all but stretched into the mare’s saddle, her hand touching Raven’s elbow. Their eyes met and Raven groaned, unable to think of a lie. “Not all Azarathians are monks,” She ran a tongue over her cheek as Cassandra’s head tilted in surprise. The fighter leaned back in her saddle, smiling when Raven caught her hand and intertwined their fingers. They kept holding hands as they rode along the trail, uncaring about the awkward stretch of their sides.

The mage took another deep breath and elaborated, “Most are either monks or acolytes from foreign lands, to be honest. But some, like myself, dabble in other cultures and practice magic for healing, although we aren’t as… devout as the others. But every so often, usually once every few generations or so, someone uses magic for destruction instead of healing.” Raven couldn’t contain the shiver that danced down her back as the scent of garlic seemed to manifest out of thin air. 

She shook her head to rid her imagination of the odor, paying no mind to her headscarf beginning to unravel. Her tongue darted out to wet her chapped lips before she murmured, “The possibility of Cyclops using Azarathian magic is… higher than I’d like to imagine. But those who use magic are often physically weak, and I don’t know how willing the Cyclops or even the Jester would be to deal with magic’s problems.” 

Cassandra stiffly nodded, taking in the new information. She absentmindedly rubbed her fingertips over the twine talisman before asking, _But what about the person who’s using blood magic for evil. Do you know who--_

Cassandra jolted halfway into her signs, stopping her stallion and holding a hand up. Raven tensed and looked at her oddly, watching as the princess turned to face the center of the trail. Her scarred hands cupped behind her ear and, after a moment, mahogany eyes widened at the far off, unmistakable sound of people. 

Putting a finger to her lips, Cassandra silently dismounted her horse and handed Raven the reins. The mage felt a chill go down her spine at the resolve on the fighter’s face as she signed, _Stay a few strides back and be as quiet as possible, alright?_

Nodding determinedly, Raven waited until Cassandra cleared five trees before she started after her. The mage was curious at how, unlike most armors, Cassandra’s seemed to absorb the few flickers of light that hit it, making her practically impossible to spot. Instead, Raven focused on the uncovered shine of her hair, being sure not to lose sight of the princess. Up ahead, Cassandra kicked away stray rocks and branches that lay on the unmarked trail while Raven made sure that neither of the horses stepped on any.

Silently, they travelled for nearly half an acre before Raven heard the voices. They were low and rough, the far away distance making the shouts nearly a whisper. Unsure of how Cassandra had heard them earlier when they were so far away, Raven stilled and held the horses in place when the princess held up a fist. Cassandra turned and met the mage’s gaze, nodding when neither horse moved. Raven tried to keep her breathing even as the princess disappeared under the brush, but the strange voices were entirely too close for comfort. 

Cassandra slowly crawled along the underbrush until she came upon the clearing, her lips tightening in a straight line at the sight of all the men. She quickly counted them and their weapons; eight men with three bows, forty-one arrows, five daggers, two lances, and nine swords among them. 

Quietly climbing one of the trees, the princess balanced on the bough. Briefly, her gaze flicked to where Raven and the horses were, the stone in her stomach lessening at the knowledge that they were far enough away to not be noticed. One of the men with a bow slung to his back snarled as he took a swing from his flask and burped as loud as he could, drawing everyone’s attention to him, “I ssswear, that guy wasss sssneaking on me!” 

He practically emitted drunkenness as he slurred, the gap in his teeth making him practically hiss out his words. Shaking his fist, he kept indignantly complaining to the group, “Ssscrawny little pisssss-mire! Thinksss he can jussst lisssten ta me talk ta all of you… That turd burglar better not meet up with Ssslade. That’sss MY money and not hisss!!!” 

One of the other men casually ran his thumb over his blade, clicking his tongue, “That Slade’s got a branch up his ass.” He snorted and cracked his jaw, “Don’t think he’d let just anyone come to try fighting. Specially not a tiny carrot like that little guy.”

Roughly, another man clapped the first on his shoulder, “ _C’mon_ , Ol’ One Eye ain’t gonna take someone who ain’t a fighter. We’ll get our money, easy.” He took a messy swig from his flask, most of the liquid seeping into his beard, “Forget about that little turd! Let’s think ‘bout how many whorehouses we’ll clear out with all our gold!” 

Biting back her curse of frustration, Cassandra softly crawled out of the tree and made her way back to where Raven and the horses waited. After a few minutes she all but walked into her stallion’s side, surprised to see the mage resting along the base of a tree. 

Raven watched as the princess crouched down next to her, her brows furrowed. Cassandra bit the inside of her cheek as she mulled over the men’s conversation, her shoulders curled in as she worriedly thrummed her fingertips on the armor that covered her thigh. Raven allowed a long minute to pass as she rested against the tree trunk, watching how Cassandra mentally calculated all that she needed to do.

The Azarathian took a breath, guessing what the princess found. She murmured, “If your informant is close, we should go to him first.”

The princess’ head snapped up to stare at her; Raven ignored her gaze and wringed her hands together. “We must catch him before he flees. If he leaves the area, let alone the country…” The mage shook her head, determined to see the mission through, “You must find out everything that he knows about Cyclops, my Princess. Azarath can wait.”

They stared at each other for a moment. Cassandra looked guilty as she took in the hidden disappointment that hovered just out of Raven’s face. _Are you sure?_ , She signed, her hands coming up to tuck the pale woman’s headscarf back in place, _With how drunk the men were, my informant is at least half a day away._

Raven tried to keep her emotions off her face but couldn’t keep her shoulders from drooping. Still, she thinly smiled at the princess, “The Cyclops is _dangerous_ , my Princess. Finding your informant as quickly as possible is my first priority.” 

Cassandra nodded and leaned up to press a kiss onto Raven’s cheek. She felt how the mage stilled underneath her, her breath escaping in a quick gasp. Being this close to her, the princess could feel the heat radiating off Raven’s cheeks as her lips pulled away, hovering over her skin. Still so impossibly close, Cassandra pulled back to stare into violet eyes, signing out a quick, _Thank you_. Wide eyed, Raven nodded vigorously, her hand lightly touching the back of the royal’s talisman, “Let’s go find out about the Cyclops, then.” 

Her fingers slid down to grab the princess’ hand, both their blushes muted in the darkness. The noble solemnly helped her up into her mare’s saddle and they were off, heading back towards the trail. Once they were far enough away from the clearing, Cassandra urged her horse to a trot and, once she heard Raven follow her lead, let him run.

For the two marks, neither spoke as they travelled, both lost in thought. Another half mark and Cassandra raised her head, hearing the thin sound of slowly running water. Raven sniffed the air, “Is there a river nearby? I smell moss.” 

Cassandra led her stallion off the trail and into the brush, carefully watching where she directed him. After a few minutes the horses picked up their steps as the dirt gave way to stones and pebbles. The women looked up, taking in how the moonlight shined on the riverbank. Raven let out a little hum as she ran her fingers through her mare’s mane, watching as the water rippled as it crashed against the algae-covered stones on the riverbed. 

The princess aimed her gaze upriver, her brows furrowing when she saw no evidence of any campfires. Her informant was probably sleeping, then. Squinting against the glare of the moonlight on the water, Cassandra noticed that the river narrowed up ahead, no more than a quarter mark’s ride away. 

She turned to Raven and paused, a tender smile sliding along her lips at how encaptured the mage looked. Her cheek was resting along the top of the mare’s head as her violet eyes flicked back and forth, trying to count the tiny flashes of silver fish as they darted under the water. The princess cleared her throat, drawing Raven’s attention. 

Cassandra pointed upstream, _We should go. I’m not sure how far upriver he is but he’s not using a fire so we’ll have to be quiet._ Raven nodded and grabbed onto the reins, shifting to make herself comfortable. The princess allowed herself another quiet moment of watching her, a pang hitting her heart at how well Raven could keep her emotions off her face. The mage needed work on hiding her body language: her shoulders drooped just a bit more than usual, her gaze lingered on the sky just a beat too long, and she kept reaching up to mess with her headscarf, only to softly rub at the pyrope in her forehead. 

Cassandra steeled herself and softly whistled, drawing Raven’s attention and making the horses stand on end. _We’ll stay at the end of the riverbed. Be sure to avoid the rocks_ , she instructed before starting upstream. After a moment, she turned around to consider the mage. Raven looked alert enough, but the late night seemed to be getting to her. _If we don’t find him in a mark, we’ll set up camp for the night_ , the princess promised. 

They slowly trotted up the riverbank, alert to all the sounds that water brought. Frogs and beetles scurried about as they got out of the horses’ way, fish flitted away from the river’s surface, bubbles popped and gurgled as rocks sunk into the silt. Not even a quarter of a mark into their journey the river began to narrow until it was a stride wider than a running jump. 

Cassandra keenly took in the gap as they rode past. 

The moon’s light glinted off a smooth pebble. A frog darted off into the brush. Cassandra’s head tilted and her eyes narrowed as she stared into the water. 

Suddenly, her head snapped to the opposite riverbank and she lunged off her stallion. The horses nearly reared at the move and Raven gasped out her name as the princess leaped over the river. Her feet hit the water’s edge and she rolled, using her momentum to spring into a sprint into the forest. Flabbergasted, Raven ungracefully dismounted and started petting the horses’ sides to calm them. 

A heavy _thud!_ preceded a man’s scream. 

“Oh no…” Looking around, Raven carefully tied the two reins around a sturdy-looking tree and, after a second’s deliberation, pulled a bag off of the stallion’s saddle. She easily grabbed one of the vials of premade salve, grateful to her past self for arming all the Waynes with extra protection. With one last head pat to both horses she turned to leave, habitually leaning down to pick up her skirts. Grinning that there was less material than usual to carry, the mage carefully walked back to the thinnest section of the river and tossed a stick in, checking the strength of the flow. 

Satisfied that she wouldn’t be swept off her feet, she jumped across, wincing as her boots landed in the water. She ignored the squelch of water seeping into her socks as she ran upriver until she was directly across from the horses. Taking in the bootprints in the dirt, she followed Cassandra’s trail. 

She didn’t have to search for signs of the princess for more than a few seconds, since the sounds of the man whimpering led her to a rough clearing. The princess looked relieved when Raven stumbled out from under the shadows, her bloody hands pressed tightly to the man’s side. 

At the fighter’s nod Raven approached and kneeled next to her, uncorking the vial as she did so. She touched Cassandra’s hands and the princess pulled away, revealing the knife that was stuck in the man’s side. The mage’s brows arched at the sight of the blade sticking _through_ the thin material of the man’s bag, the butt of his dagger stuck on the other side. 

The princess touched her shoulder as she began applying salve. Cognizant that she probably shouldn’t speak of Cassandra’s status, Raven tilted her chin to her and murmured, “Rip off a few strands off my skirts, will you? I need to wrap the wound.” 

Cassandra did as she asked, holding the strips taut as the healer coated a portion in salve. Her hand rested on Raven’s shoulder, drawing her attention. Her eyes flicked from the man’s bag, still soaked in blood, to the mage’s eyes, _This is my informant. Tell him that I’m going to go through his documents. See if he has anything on the Cyclops._

Softly rolling the man onto his side, Raven kept applying pressure to his wound, “The healing salve should be taking away most of the pain.” His eyes opened and she gave him a thin smile, “You’re apparently the informant?” 

His brows furrowed as he suspiciously glanced between the two women and Raven answered his question before he asked, “I’m not sure if you’re on a first name basis with…” Cassandra heard her trailing question and signed out a bird’s name. Nodding, Raven continued, “You usually give your information to Robin, correct?” At his nod, Raven tilted her chin to the princess, “This is one of Robin’s associates.” 

She leaned back, giving the informant an angle to see the bat symbol on the shorter woman’s arm band. Apologetically, Raven removed her hands from his wound, beaming when he didn’t wince too harshly. Patting his shoulder, she continued, “Their usual routes had to be switched. We need to know if you know anything about a man people are calling ‘the Cyclops’?” 

The man hesitated, his gaze flicking to Cassandra as she yanked his bag open. Raven touched his shoulder when he tried to sit up, her voice firm, “You need to move as little as possible for the first few minutes with a stab wound like that. She just needs to see if you have any documents or information on him.” Pitching forward, Raven raised a brow as she stared down at him, “Any rumors of a potentially rich, one-eyed man hiring fighters?”

Cassandra waved to get her attention. Raven turned to her, reading her hands as she revealed, _If the drunks back there were right, Cyclops’ name might be Slade_. Nodding determinedly, the Azarathian turned back to their informant, “Does the name ‘Slade’ ring any bells?”

The two women exchanged a look when he let out a harrowed sigh, his whole body seeming to slump into itself. “Yeah… yeah I know about Slade,” He lazily tapped under his right eye, “Got a fucked up eye, messin’ with everyone’s business.” 

The informant annoyedly twisted his torso, grunting at the pull of his wound. He touched his side, glad to see that he apparently didn’t need stitches. His eyes raised to Cassandra and he admitted, “Slade’s been holdin’ these… competitions.” He clicked his tongue, adding, “Makin’ all of the Jester’s people earn their place. I’ve seen some of ‘em around, actually.” 

He looked down at the ground, his voice dark, “Dead, y’know. Beaten til you could hardly recognize ‘em as _human_ and just dumped on the side of the forest.” He followed the movement of a scurrying beetle, his hands starting to pick at the edge of the makeshift bandages, “Figured that when Slade runs out of forest he’ll start lettin’ ‘em rot in the river.”

_Is that so?_ , Cassandra signed, holding back a smile when Raven immediately spoke her words aloud, _You know, we didn’t expect to see you for another few marks._

The man sighed, shaking his head as a breathless, humorless laugh escaped. “I haven’t been stickin’ to my usual routes. Stayin’ more downstream than usual. The last thing I need is bein’ caught up in _his_ way.” He swallowed thickly, his gaze flicking between the two women, “Y’know that he has his guards beat up _everyone_ they come across? Even lil’ kids! Says they might’ve heard their parents talk. Guy wants in on all the inside dealin’ goin’ on. Even the rumors.”

His shoulders slumped, “I don’t know _what_ he’s lookin’ for, but he’s searchin’ under every pebble to find it.” He pointed at the papers in Cassandra’s hands, “I’ve been gettin’ all the posters and writin’ down rumors I overhear. This Slade man’s got _a lot_ of money behind him, with how much gold he’s been offering.”

Cassandra hummed as she looked over the papers, feeling as Raven peeked over her shoulders at the words. Not bothering to try to read, yet alone in the dark, the princess focused on the map and the circles that dotted the page. She stared at the man, _Do you know where Slade should be right now?_

He listened as Raven repeated her query, propping himself up and rubbing his chin in thought. “He’s somewhere in the Jester’s territory. Apparently they’re holdin’ their competitions, still weedin’ out the weak ones. Though i don’t know if they’re in Blackgate by now.” Raven leaned forward and helped him sit up. 

The man pointed at the papers, “One of ‘em, with my notes on the top. One of the old pub-crawlers, he says they’re supposed to get weapons first then the _real_ trainin’ is gonna start.” This time, he noticed the way they glanced at each other and regretfully shrugged, “Sorry, but that’s all I know about Slade and the Jester and all that business.”

Resting his weight on his palms, he added, “Most of the papers in there are about what Robin and I always discuss, don’t know if you two need that.” 

Cassandra quickly flicked her palm, standing and helping Raven to her feet. “We’ll take it with us anyways,” The mage explained as the two helped the man stand straight. He grunted as his weight settled, rolling his shoulders as they moved away and he stood under his own strength.

The princess bowed her head and Raven smiled at the man, “Thank you for the information. You can walk on your own?” He nodded and she picked up the half empty vial, corking and handing it to him, “Put the rest of this directly on your skin when you take the bandages off. You should heal up just fine. The wound’s so shallow there probably won’t be a scar.” Turning back to Cassandra, Raven nodded, picked up her skirts and they were off, leaving the man in the clearing.

Cassandra held her hand as she led them back to the river, a lazy grin sliding over her face at the sight of the horses scratching their chins on the tree bark. Raven chuckled alongside her as she bent down to check the water flow with another stick. 

An unnaturally high-pitched squeak escaped her when the princess scooped her up in her arms. Raven wrapped her arms around Cassandra’s neck, her eyes widening and a strangled gasp escaping her as suddenly the princess ran back into the forest. The firm press of the fighter’s shoulderpads was chilly against her pale arms, but all Raven could do was cling tighter as they sprinted towards the river. 

Then, for what felt like an eternity but was reasonably only a few seconds, they _flew_. 

Raven blinked incredulously as the princess landed firmly on their original side of the river, gaping incredulously as her gaze flicked from Cassandra to the horses to the bootprints on the opposite riverbank and then back to Cassandra. 

Still in disbelief, Raven absentmindedly rested her cheek against the shorter woman’s temple. Cassandra was warm and steady underneath her and the mage spluttered out, “Did we--did we just _fly_ across?”

Her question broke all of the princess’ reserve and Cassandra broke out in a fit of giggles, carefully setting the mage down as she tried to smother her laughter behind the palm of her hand. The fighter leaned against the tree as she let out another peal of laughter, taking deep breaths to calm herself. 

_I jumped across_ , She teasingly signed, her shoulders still shaking and her words a bit sloppy as she tried to calm down. Raven crossed her arms, blushing as she tried to look annoyed. It was hard to feign being angry when Cassandra was laughing, though. The princess was almost _too_ cute for words as she breathlessly ran a hand through her short hair, finally catching her breath. 

Raven reached up to run her fingertips over her mare’s nostrils, smiling tenderly as she unknotted the reins. She took a deep breath, turning to grin at the princess, “Back to the Manor, then?” 

Cassandra didn’t answer her, instead turning to look up at the sky. The ink of night was starting to lighten up, the barest hint of pale blue peeking out over the tops of the trees. _We’ve only been gone half a day_ , she signed. Her brows furrowed in thought, _If we leave now and take a few breaks to eat, we’ll be back before midnight. Maybe a bit earlier if there’s no trouble._

The mage nodded and went to grab her steed’s reins, pausing when a tan hand slid over her own. Cassandra intertwined their fingers and squeezed, smirking as she leaned back against the tree. Raven’s head tilted to the side in confusion, “My Princess?” 

_We got pretty far upstream_ , The princess’ grin widened and she brought their joined hands up, pressing a kiss to the pale thumb. Raven blushed, trying to focus on Cassandra’s other hand as she signed, _Azarath_ is only about a mark and a half away. 

Amethyst eyes went wide, her pupils growing as she searched the royal’s face. Her lips trembled and she beamed down at Cassandra, her voice cracking in suspense, “We… we can still go?”

Cassandra nodded, _We should get there just before sunrise. And then we can stay until midnight, maybe even breakfast if we want to get back to the Manor before lunch tomorrow._

Raven dropped her hand at the news and let out a little keen. The ends of her lips twitched half a second before she lunged forward, pulling Cassandra into a hug. Mahogany eyes squeezed shut as the mage all but jumped into her arms, Raven’s low peals of laughter smothered in the princess’ dark hair. Cassandra held her weight for a moment, the ends of the healer’s headscarf tickling her nose. Excitedly, Raven flipped the material over her shoulder and leaned down, peppering firm, warm kisses all along Cassandra’s face. 

The noble’s knees gave out in her shock and they fell to the floor, the mage barely balanced in the smaller woman’s lap. Giggling, Raven nuzzled against the fighter’s face, paying no mind to the way Cassandra had frozen at her kisses and instead savoring the heat of the princess’ blush. Breathless and unadulteratedly happy, the Azarathian breathlessly murmured against the royal’s hairline over and over and over again, “Thank you, my Princess! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”


	7. Hello, again. It’s been so long (not really)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The forest may be devoid of conversations at night, but Azarath certainly won’t be.

Raven lapsed into silence as the two lounged at the base of the tree. Her fingers languidly slid through the princess’ hair, her breath coming in quick staccato in her subdued excitement. Underneath her, she could feel the warmth still radiating off of Cassandra and, in the silence of the night, could practically _hear_ as the fighter's heartbeat fluttered an acre a minute.

With a casualness she didn't expect from herself, Raven leaned back to rest her forehead against Cassandra's, feeling the press of her pyrope in between them. The princess mustered up a grin, lazily nudging their noses together. The mage bit her lip, “We should get going soon,” she murmured, making no effort to move. Cassandra nodded in agreement and wrapped her arms around the taller woman. She smiled, pulling Raven just a smidge closer despite how their proximity was turning her into a blushing mess. 

After another few minutes, the mage sighed and leaned up, bracing herself on Cassandra’s shoulders, “Sorry to cut this short, my Princess, but it’s getting a bit late.” Taking in the sleepiness that was just barely starting to show on the Azarathian’s face, mahogany eyes flicked from the developing bags under Raven’s eyes to her drooping shoulders and then to the curl on her lips, thinner than usual at the late hour. Cassandra pulled her into her lap and stood, grinning as Raven flailed for a moment as she was hefted into the air. 

Feeling a surge of pride at the wide, captivated amethyst eyes aimed her way, Cassandra walked them over to the horses. She raised on the tips of her toes and set Raven down on her mare’s saddle, carefully tucking her skirts down so they wouldn’t get tangled. The princess mounted her stallion and gazed up at the sky, reorienting herself with the stars.

Winking at the older woman, Cassandra snapped the reins and began to lead the way. 

Raven’s mare neighed irritably as the healer kept shifting from side to side, antsy as she eagerly looked around for any familiar landmarks. Finally, just after a mark and a quarter, amethyst eyes caught sight of an old, knotted tree. The moss grew around the trunk and inside one of it’s biggest holes lay an old, calcified nest of twigs and painted pebbles. 

A wondrous peal of laughter bubbled out of the mage at the familiar sight and she bounded off her horse. Raven took off in a run, her headscarf completely flying off and her skirts fluttering behind her. Cassandra blinked after her, chuckling as she dismounted and began leading both horses in the mage’s wake, picking up her headscarf as she passed it.

The princess rounded a corner and raised a brow at three of her family’s soldiers. They guarded the central pathway to enter Azarath and Raven stood in front of them, shifting her weight from foot to foot as she irritably tried to peek over their shoulders at her home. The prickly thorn bushes flanked them on both sides and the sun’s rays were just barely creeping over the horizon, leaving the bushes shrouded in darkness. It made them seem endless, stretching a million strides in both directions. 

As she approached the impromptu gate, Raven turned to her, her frown lessening at the sight of her favorite royal. Apologetically, the soldiers let them through, the only one without a beard explaining, “I apologize, my Princess, but we’re under orders not to open the entrances more than once a mark. Too risky with the activity that’s been going on recently.” 

Raven sped past him without another thought but Cassandra halted, her lips pursing as she took in his words. She jogged past them, doing her best to keep an eye on where the mage ran to. 

Violet hair waved around as Raven stopped in front of a small cottage, the tapestries on the outside gorgeously braided together with twine. Mahogany eyes watched as the mage made a quick symbol over her chest, tapped the gem in her forehead, and made her way into the cottage, her enthusiasm subdued so as not to make too much noise. 

Cassandra memorized the collection of beads and bird feathers that hung from the cottage’s roof and noted the patches of herbs growing around it. Once satisfied that she could retrace her steps, she turned around and led the horses to the stables. As the princess filled their troughs with oats, she checked their water and quietly exited the stable, her sight settling on the makeshift barracks that the soldiers had constructed. 

Rolling her shoulders, she securely strapped the informant’s bag on her shoulder and made her way to the barracks, her face grim. 

\--

Raven paused just inside the entrance to the cottage, letting her eyes adjust to the light. Pupils wide, she reached up and started unraveling her braid as she ducked under the curtains. Moving over the smooth rug, the mage stopped dead in her tracks, her heart crumbling. 

Curled up in her bed, Arella wheezed as she weakly twirled a dove feather in between her too thin fingers. Still undetected, Raven took the time to unabashedly stare at her mother, eyes becoming glassy as she noted the many blankets wrapped around the matriarch, the blood soaked handkerchiefs in a woven basket at her bedside, the deep, bluish circles that lay under her eyes, the unnatural sallowness of her skin. 

Raven let her hands fall to her sides; Arella feebly turned to look at the noise, her sunken eyes widening and her chest heaving as a deep gasp filled her lungs. A bout of coughs were forced out of the woman, her daughter immediately rushing to her side and dropping to her knees as she sought to catch her breath. 

“Mia Birdeto,” Arella whispered through her coughing fit, her words muffled as Raven brought one of the handkerchiefs to her mouth to catch the blood. Still, Arella kept talking against the fabric, “Mia gemo! Ho, mia kara filino fine revenis al mi!” _My Little Bird. My gem! Oh, my darling daughter has finally come back to me!_

Raven softly used the pads of her thumbs to wipe away the older woman’s tears, “Mi estas ĉi tie, Patrino. Seka tiuj larmoj. _Bonvolu_ , Patrino. Mi estas ĉi tie, mi estas ĉi tie, mi estas ĉi tie.” Raven placed trembling kisses along her parent’s face as she comforted her, trying to blink away her own tears as the full force of how badly Arella’s health had declined in the short amount of time she had been gone hit her. _I’m here, Mother. Dry those tears._ Please _, Mother. I’m here, I’m here, I’m here._

The mage tenderly ran her fingers through her mother’s long hair, “Vi scias ke mi ne maltrafus vidi vin denove.” Arella smiled as wide as she could, the gesture thin on her stricken face. She raised her head, tiredly coughing into the handkerchief as Raven pressed their temples together, humming as her warm fingers started running through her parent’s hair again. _You know that I wouldn’t miss out on seeing you again._

“Mi ne atendis vin por alia luno,” Arella murmured, her eyes twinkling as Raven kissed her knuckles. _I wasn't expecting you for another moon._

“Mi ne atendis ke vi vekiĝu, sed nur parolanta Azaraton,” The daughter countered. Softly, Raven kissed her mother's knuckles again, pulling them up to brush against her pyrope, “Mi ĝojas ke vi estas bone.” _I wasn't expecting you to be awake, yet alone speaking Azarathian. I'm glad you're alright._

“Kiel mi.” Arella's voice was calm as she added, “Sed kiel vi alvenis ĉi tien? Vi supozas esti en Gotham kaj via letero ...” Pausing to think, Arella's dark eyes flicked to Raven as her daughter finished her thought, “Kiam mi skribis, mi pensis ke mi ne povos viziti ĝis almenaŭ la venontan lunon.” Shyly, the mage tugged at a pesky strand of loose hair, her eyes accidentally sliding to the cottage's entrance. _As am I. But how did you get here? You're supposed to be at Gotham and your letter… When I wrote, I thought I wouldn't be able to visit until at least the next moon._

“Mi venis kun iu,” Raven admitted. “Gotham estas atakonta, sed neniu el la reĝa familio scias kiu estas la mastro malantaŭ ĉio.” Biting her lip, the mage quickly added, her voice brighter, “Por sorto, la vojo kiun ni prenis, apenaŭ estis pli ol du markoj de Azarath.” _I came with someone. Gotham is about to be attacked, but none of the royal family knows who the mastermind behind everything is. Luckily, the route we took was barely more than two marks away from Azarath._

Arella's thin brows furrowed, “Ni?” Her grin widened as a blush began to dust her daughter's cheeks. _We?_

Raven cleared her throat, her fingers fiddling with the rings that adorned her fingers, “Jes, mia Princino permesis al mi aliĝi al ŝi trovante la informanton de ĉi tiu vojo.” Rolling her bottom lip in between her teeth, the mage murmured, “Trovinte lin prenis malpli da tempo ol atendite, do ŝi eskortis min hejmen.” _Yes, my Princess has allowed me to join her in finding this route's informant. Finding him took less time than expected, so she escorted me back home._

Arella pitched forward half an inch, “Kiom longe vi restos?” Biting back a sigh at the hopefulness on her mother's face, Raven softly said, “Ni eble verŝajne restos tagon plejparte.” _How long will you stay? We can probably stay a day at most._

“Tago tuta?!” The matriarch clapped her hands, her sallow cheeks gaining some color, “Ho, tio estas mirinda.” She brought her daughter's hands up and kissed her rings, giggling as much as her lungs would allow. _A whole day?! Oh, that’s wonderful._

Raven looked surprised, “Tago ne estas tiel longa, Patrino.” She intertwined their fingers, staying as stoic as possible as she took in the thinness of Arella’s fingers; once upon a time, those fingers weren’t so pale that one could see the bone or count the trailing ends of indigo veins that peeked through her skin. The mage squeezed her mother’s hands, “Speciale ne kiam vi estas tiel malsana.” _A day is not that long, Mother. Especially not when you are so sick._

“Tago estas multe, mia gemo. Sincere, kun la tuta nervozeco lastatempe mi atendis vin por apenaŭ marko.” _A day is plenty, my gem. Honestly, with all the nervousness lately I expected you for barely a mark._

Thick brows furrowed in question, “Nervozeco?” _Nervousness?_

Arella waved her question aside, “Ni ne bezonas ĝeni nin per tio nuntempe. Ne kiam ni reen kune. Estas tiom da noveco en via vivo; ho, vi devas diri al mi ĉion pri ĝi!” She leaned back in her blankets, smiling fondly at her daughter. Although they’d yet to be apart for a moon, Raven looked older, steadier under the weight of responsibility besides the ones she held for Azarath. Arella blinked as Raven smoothed her hair back, asking, “Do, kiam mi renkontos la princidon respondeca pri mia Birdeto revenanta?” _No need to trouble ourselves with that at the moment. Not when we’re back together. There’s so much newness in your life; oh, you must tell me all about it! So, when shall I meet the princess responsible for my Little Bird coming back?_

Silently, as if waiting for her cue, Cassandra entered the matriarch’s cottage. Satisfied when she heard the mage’s hushed voice, she poked her head in. Her sight settled on the sick woman’s face, a bit stunned at how weak she looked for her young age. Cassandra bit back a squeak, an embarrassed curl on her lips as Arella met her gaze. 

“Ho Azar, mi pardonpetas. Mi tute ne prezentas,” Arella’s charcoal eyes flicked to the princess as she fully stepped forward, her armor reflecting the tapestries’ colors, “Sidu min, mia gemo. Ni havas vizitanton.” Her frail hands smoothed down the rumples in her outermost layer of blankets. _Oh Azar, I apologize. I’m not at all presentable. Sit me up, my gem. We have a visitor._

Smiling despite the chaotic mess of emotions that was her mother meeting someone so important to her, Raven held out a hand for Cassandra to take, “My Princess, I’d like you to meet my mother.” The royal settled down next to the mage, softly intertwining their fingers. Raven’s hand trembled in her own and the princess ran a thumb over her knuckles. 

“Patrino, jen Cassandra,” The mage tilted her head in Cassandra’s direction, a fond smile on her face, “Ŝi estas filino de Reĝo Bruce. Ŝia amikeco estis ... monumenta por mia komforta en Gotham.” Arella let her head rest against the pillow, beaming up at the princess and flicking her gaze between the two women. _Mother, this is Cassandra. She is King Bruce’s daughter. Her friendship has been… monumental to my getting comfortable in Gotham._

Grinning, Arella nodded at Cassandra as Raven continued, “My Princess, this is Arella. She’s Azarath’s matriarch.” Tossing some of her hair behind her back, the mage added, “With how weak she is, I doubt that she can work to translate all of her words right now. You don’t mind?” 

Bowing her head, Cassandra signed to the mother, _It is very nice to finally meet you, Arella._

Pitching forward, Raven translated her unspoken words into Azarathian, murmuring, “Mia Princino estas muta, Patrino. Ŝi kaj ŝia familio havas sian propran manieron paroli per siaj manoj,” Arella slowly nodded at the information, stretching to touch Cassandra’s free hand that perched on the bed. _My Princess is a mute, Mother. She and her family have their own way of speaking with their hands._

“Ŝi estas _via_ princino, mia Birdeto?” The matriarch’s smile was wide and teasing, “Mi esperas ke vi memoras ke ni ne sendis vin edziniĝi, kvankam mi ne plendas laŭ via elekto.” Arella settled back down in her blankets, casting a satisfied, approving eye over the pair. _She is_ your _princess, my Little Bird? I hope you remember that we didn’t send you off to get married, although I’m not complaining in your choice._

After a moment, the princess lightly tugged their joined hands, signing out, _What did she say?_ But at the blushing way that Raven refused to meet her eyes and the girlish laugh that escaped Arella, Cassandra flushed in understanding. She cleared her throat, lightly scratching behind her ear. Her fingers squeezed Raven’s as the mage ran an embarrassed palm over her face. Both women snapped their heads up when Arella began coughing again, her chest roughly heaving as she sat upright. 

The mage soothingly rubbed her parent’s back, her frustration at not being able to help in any way obvious. Timidly, the princess nudged Raven’s shoulder, _Will you ask her about how she is feeling? I know magic does not work, but you brought some of your favorite calming incense along with us._

“Patrino, ĉu vi volas ke ni bruligu iom da incenso? Cassandra kaj mi povas prepari kaldronon de kamiono, do vi dormos ĝis matenmanĝo.” Arella languidly listened to her speak, more focused on how the princess watched her daughter. A soft smile curled the matriarch’s lips and she nodded. _Mother, would you like us to burn some incense? Cassandra and I can prepare a pot of chamomile, so you’ll sleep until breakfast._

Granted, her approval was more aimed towards the fact that Raven’s affections were apparently returned, but tea was always nice. Arella weakly motioned towards the door, “Kial vi ne prenas la teon por ni, mia Birdeto? Mi certas ke Cassandra kaj mi povas trovi vojon por paroli dum vi foriris.” _Why don’t you get the tea for us, my Little Bird? I’m sure Cassandra and I can find a way to talk while you’re gone._

Raven paused at her words, hesitant. Still, she leaned over to explain to the princess, “You don’t mind staying here while I prepare the tea? Mother surely would enjoy your company.” Cassandra tilted her head at the news but smiled, nodding encouragingly. She brought their hands up to kiss the mage’s pale knuckles once then dropped her hand, _Arella and I will be fine_. The royal lazily removed her chestplate and shoulder pads, getting comfortable as she signed, _But be sure to hurry back_. Cassandra batted her lashes, partly floored at her own confidence and partly emboldened by the way Arella excited watched them talk, _Otherwise we’ll both miss you._

Rolling her eyes despite the smile that curled her lips, Raven stood and pressed a kiss to her mother’s forehead. “I’ll only be a few minutes,” She drawled to the princess, and then she was gone, the tapestries and curtains shifting as she left the cottage. 

Cassandra turned to Arella, her gaze just as curious as the older woman’s as they sized each other up. The princess watched as the matriarch pointed to one of the books on her shelves, miming the thinnest size to Cassandra. Arella smiled as the book was placed in her lap and she opened the pages. 

She shifted to the side and invited the princess to rest against her bed. Nestling down into her blankets, Arella found one of the many bookmarks and flipped to the page. Cassandra looked down at the map, her head tilting as she took in Azarath’s migration route. The matriarch pointed at the illustration of the moon’s cycle, softly adding, “Vi verŝajne ne povas kompreni min, sed Azarath tuj migros baldaŭ. Post la venonta luno, efektive.” _You probably can’t understand me, but Azarath is going to be migrating again soon. After the next moon, actually._

She tapped the painting of the waning gibbous, the crescent moon only a thin sliver. Humming, she added, “Mi ĝojas, ke Raven restos kun vi en Gotham. Ŝi estos sekura tie.” Arella glanced at the princess, a sly smirk on her face, “Kaj nekredeble feliĉa, ankaŭ.” _I’m glad that Raven is staying with you in Gotham. She’ll be safe there. And incredibly happy, too._

Finding a folded corner that she’d memorized over her life, Arella opened the book to a painting of her daughter, hunched over a bird’s nest, perched on some vines with her gem glowing. Cassandra immediately pitched forward and curiously took in the picture, recognizing what the thin watercolor that flowed from her fingertips and mouth were depicting. 

The princess pointed to some of the herbs and vines that hung from the cottage’s ceiling, _She has used this magic at the Manor_ , she signed. Holding a hand to her chest Cassandra mimed singing and Arella nodded in understanding. Glancing back at the pages, Arella sighed, nostalgically running the pads of her fingers over the lines of Raven’s cloak. 

A soft chuckle forced its way of her and charcoal eyes turned to the princess, “Vi scias, Raven amis uzi magion por helpi la birdojn kiam ŝi estis eta. Ŝia pa--” Arella caught herself, sadly shaking her head. A strained sigh escaped her before she continued, “Ŝi nur uzas sian magion por plantoj nun. Ajna resanigo estas sur homoj kaj malgranda skalo por bestoj.” _You know, Raven loved using magic to help out the birds when she was tiny. Her fa-- She only uses her magic for plants now. Any healing is on people and small scale for animals._

Pale fingertips traced the inky feathers, Ĝi daŭras pli longe, kompreneble, sed la alia opcio estas tro malutila por ŝi.” _It takes longer, of course, but the other option is too damaging for her._

Physically shaking the thoughts from her head, Arella weakly smiled at Cassandra, “Ŝi estas multe pli esprima kiam ŝi estas ĉirkaŭ vi. Mi ne vidis ŝin kiel en multaj _jaroj_.” To prove her point, the matriarch flipped through the book, settling on a cluster of tiny paintings of Raven. The fighter let her brows jump, noting the drastic difference between how the mage was painted. Tiny and with short hair held only by her cloak, her gem was often glowing and a muted smile was painted on her face in nearly all of them. Cassandra briefly let her gaze flick to Arella, hesitant to ask why Raven suddenly started wearing a headscarf and using her magic only on non-sentient life. _She’s so much more expressive when she’s around you. I haven’t seen her like that in_ years.

Before she could, the mother paused, biting the inside of her cheek, “Mi ankaŭ volis paroli al vi pri la aferoj, kiujn la soldatoj probable informis pri vi.” Cassandra narrowed her eyes at the sudden change in her demeanor but Arella ignored it. She abruptly flicked to one of the maps, pointing at the barracks and then the top of the river that hovered near the end of Gotham’s border. “Ŝajne fajro _kutime_ akompanas iujn el la konfuzo, sed ni nur aŭdis kiam ili venos por armiloj kaj brulligno. Por sorto, Azarath estas sufiĉe for de la rezulto.” _I also wanted to talk to you about the issues that the soldiers probably told you about. Apparently fire_ should _accompany some of the commotion, but we only have heard when they come for weapons and firewood. Luckily, Azarath is pretty far from the outcome._

Cassandra only seemed to understand a small amount of her words but she nodded anyway, miming an explosion and covering her ears, _My men explained some of the past occurances to me._

Pulling out a smaller, more detailed map, Arella circled the area where the barracks currently laid among the cottages, “Jen la mapo de Azarath printempo, kvankam la loĝejo de viaj soldatoj ankoraŭ ne aldoniĝis.” _Here is the map of Azarath in spring, although your soldiers’ housing hasn’t been added yet._

“Nokte iuj el ili aŭdis voĉojn kriante de ĉi tie,” Arella’s finger circled near the trail that they had used to find Azarath, “Kaj ĉi tie, kie ni pretigas nian akvoprovizon, ni vidis evidentecojn de branĉoj forkaptitaj kaj malmultaj arboj estis malplenigitaj.” Charcoal eyes shut as she took a moment to catch her breath, beaming when Cassandra patted her arm. _At night, some of them have heard voices shouting from over here. And over here, where we process our grain supply, we’ve seen evidence of branches being snapped off and a few trees have been chopped down._

The princess looked determined, _We’ll figure out what is happening._ She punctuated her words by dropping a fist on her palm, her brows furrowing a bit. Arella smiled at the move, her low chuckles making her cough, “Mi vere povas vidi, kial mia Birdeto decidis aliĝi al vi dum via vojaĝo. Vi tute decidis por justeco, ĉu ne?” Her pale lips trembled as she forced herself to sit up again, “Mi certas, ke vi rigardis ĉi tion... ‘nervozecon’? Precipe ĉirkaŭ Gotham?” _I can really see why my Little Bird decided to join you on your trip. You’re quite determined for justice, aren’t you? I’m sure you’ve looked into this… ‘nervousness’? Particularly around Gotham?_

Cassandra seemed to recognize some of her words and nodded, motioning to the informant’s bag on her shoulder. _The Cyclops may be using magic_ , She closed one eye and wriggled her fingers around to demonstrate, giggling despite the tense air as Arella laughed at her attempt to communicate. 

The mother stopped as her coughs came back. She pinched between her brows as Cassandra rubbed circles on her back, “Mi ne scias kiel bone ni postvivos.” A rough, ragged sigh forced its way out of her, “La kvanto de magio en la aero pliiĝas kaj mia tempo malaperis malpliiĝas, sed Raven ankoraŭ ne scias ĉion pri regado. Ŝi scias sufiĉe restante ĉe la Manor kun vi, sed mi ankoraŭ maltrankviliĝas.” Arella ran a hand over her face, another breath escaping her. _I don’t know how well we’ll survive. The amount of magic in the air is increasing and my time left is dwindling but Raven still doesn’t know everything about ruling. She knows enough by staying at the Manor with you, but I still worry._

The curtains shifted and Raven’s voice softly hummed out, “Cassandra? Is she asleep yet?”

“Mi vekiĝas, mia Birdeto,” Her mother called out, perking up as the mage slunk into the room and the chamomile steam started curling through the air. Raven’s steps faltered a bit as she felt the tense swirl of emotions but she did her best to ignore them, carefully balancing the tray on a stool and taking her place next to the princess. _I’m awake, my Little Bird._

Raven looked nervous as she properly settled down, her worried gaze flicking between Cassandra and her mother, the former immediately asking, _Did you see or hear anything when you were out?_

Blinking, the mage glanced between the two again, “No, everything was quiet. Did something happen?”

“La ‘Ciklapo’ eble havas ion por fari kun la nervozeco, kiu lastatempe veturis,” Arella sighed out, a smile nonetheless trying to work its way onto her face as Raven got to pouring her a cup of tea, the heavy scent of chamomile and honey making her eyes flutter shut. _The ‘Cyclops’ may have something to do with the nervousness that has been hovering around lately._

Raven’s pupils dilated, her gaze intense as she turned to the princess, “Azarath isn’t near the top of the river. Your informant, his original route wasn’t-- it wasn’t this far down, was it?” Cassandra grabbed the kettle from her hands and shook her head, pouring the mage and herself a cup. Once her hands were free she explained, _That informant usually stays at the river’s source. It’s a quarterway between the westernmost ports and here, about a day and a few marks on horseback._

Biting her lip, the princess turned her attention back on Arella and waited until she was done sipping her tea, _If you’ll excuse me, I need to talk with my soldiers to find out all that has happened so far._ Raven translated and the matriarch nearly pouted at the news, “Ĉu vi ankoraŭ restos dum la plej granda parto de la tago?” Charcoal eyes looked between the two, hopeful when Cassandra softened. _Will you two still stay for most of the day?_

The princess seemed to guess Arella's query and didn’t falter, answering with an emphatic nod, _Of course we will._

Raven raised a brow at her, “It won’t interfere with anything? With all this new information about Slade, don’t we need to get back as quickly as possible?” 

_Our informant’s route is directly affected by Slade’s men_ , Cassandra mused, setting her jaw, _The rest will probably take the scheduled two days to get back to the Manor_. Mahogany eyes met violet and the princess smiled, the act thinner and softer than usual, _This’ll give me time to collect all the information that the soldiers know, make sure everyone’s recollections line up._

The mage nodded at her and turned to look at Arella, who was starting to succumb to sleep. Pitching forward, Raven kissed her mother’s hairline. “We’ll stay until tomorrow night, Mother,” She murmured, hearing as the sick woman cooed as she settled down in the warmth of the blankets, “I’ll be here when you wake up. Want me to light the incense anyway?”

Arella nodded and Raven lit the sticks, placing them in the cups and taking a moment to watch the smoke twirl up and around the room. Cassandra grabbed the mage’s hand and urged her back down. Raven went along with her, confused. “Is something wrong, my Princess?”

_Stay here until she falls asleep_ , the noble advised, picking up her discarded armor, _I need to talk to the soldiers for a few minutes then tomorrow we’ll document everything._ Mahogany eyes bored into the mage and she knew that Raven felt the intensity behind her gaze, _And I’m pretty sure you’d like to stay too._

Cassandra nearly stood but paused, crouching down to touch her forehead against the mage’s pyrope. Smiling at the way Raven’s cheeks flooded red, she turned to Arella, _It was wonderful to speak with you, Arella. I hope we can talk more during breakfast. You may be asleep when I come back, but you should know that Raven makes me incredibly happy._ The matriarch grinned sleepily back at her, looking at her daughter for a translation.

Instead of speaking, Raven went still save for her eyes going wide and her mouth falling open as the princess leaned down to peck her temple. Grinning confidently despite the fact that both Azarathians could see what a flustered mess she was (even if it was at her own boldness), Cassandra stood to her full height, bowed her head once more, and quietly left the cottage. 

The two women sat in the stillness of the cottage for another moment, then Arella yawned, the sound morphing as she tittered into her palm, “Mi tre ŝatas ŝin. Ŝi faras flugilojn, ĉu ne?” Raven blushed, lazily rolling the ends of her hair around her thumb. The sorceress bit her lip, admitting quietly, “Mi supozas, ke Cassandra tranĉis sian vojon al mia koro.” _I quite like her. She makes your wings soar, doesn’t she? I suppose Cassandra has carved her way into my heart._

She groaned, knowing the coy look in her mother's eye all to well. Deciding to start the inevitable conversation, she buried her head in her hands, “Sed tiel okazas! Kun la minacoj kontraŭ Gotham kaj via sano, neniu el ni povas permesi tiel distri.” Shyly, Raven peeked at her mother through her fingers, confused at the older woman’s incredulous snort, “Mi scias, kiel ... ĉagrenas la ideon forlasi ĉion kiel ĝi estas, sed mi ĝojas, ke vi ŝatas ŝin.” _But so much is going on! With the threats against Gotham and your health, neither of us can afford to get so distracted. I am aware of how… unpleasant the idea of leaving everything as it is, but I’m glad that you like her._

“Vi vere _estas_ birdo, ĉu ne?” Arella tiredly laughed, her cold hand coming to rest against her daughter’s cheek, “Alvenante hejmen, enkondukante vian belan potencan fianĉinon al via patrino.” Arella practically trilled out a lazy hum, clasping her hands together. _You really_ are _a bird, aren’t you? Coming home to roost, introducing your lovely potential girlfriend to your mother._

“Patrino!” Raven let out an embarrassed whine, a smile forcing its way onto her face at her mother’s high spirits. _Mother!_

Blinking away the ever impatient press of sleep, the matriarch looked thoughtfully at her daughter, as if just remembering how long (and yet how short) of a time they had been apart. A nostalgic smile split her lips, “Mi scias kiel frapis ĉio ŝajnas kiam vi enamiĝas. Speciale en malpli ol kvara luno.” _I know how frenzied everything seems when you fall in love. Especially in less than a quarter moon._

Raven’s response was too quick, “Mi ne amas ŝin.” _I don’t love her._

“Ho?” Arella raised a brow, curious, “Vi ŝajnas kiel ĝi.” _Oh? You seem like it._

“Mi ... Mi estas entuziasmigita, jes. Mi povas diri ke mi amas ŝian kompanion. Ni trairas tiel bone--” _I...I’m infatuated, yes. I can say I love her company. We get along so well--_

The mother didn’t let her continue her excuse, “Ŝi faras vin feliĉa. Pli feliĉa ol mi iam ajn vidis.” _She makes you happy. Happier than I’ve ever seen._

Blushing, Raven nodded. Mauve eyes glanced imploringly at her mother and Arella felt a tug on her already weak heart. Her daughter, her studious, capricious daughter; the one who preferred reading books than interacting with other children, the one who was so intense in ensuring that she was worthy enough to lead that she was so wholly unprepared for falling in love. 

Sighing, Arella held out her arms, letting out a happy huff as Raven sunk into her chest. Raven heard her mother grunt and balanced her weight on her knees, groaning in faux annoyance as Arella reprimanded, “Venu, nun. Mi povas esti malsana sed almenaŭ mi povas teni mian gemon kiam ŝi rimarkas ke ŝi enamiĝas.” _Come, now. I may be sick but I can at least hold my gem when she’s realizing that she’s falling in love._

“Mi ne enamiĝas.” _I’m not in love._

“Ankoraŭ ne. Vi ankoraŭ estas en la falanta etapo.” _Not yet. You’re still in the falling stage._

There was a pause and Raven’s head popped up, her brows furrowed at that information. “Sed, ĉu ne ili estas la sama afero?” _But, aren’t they the same thing?_

Her mother kissed her hairline, “Ho, mia Birdeto! Enamiĝanta fiksas la fundamenton. Ĉiuj malfruaj noktaj paroladoj, ĉiuj trankvilaj momentoj, ĉiuj sneakaj vojoj vi du trovos tempon por elspezi kune.” Chuckling, Arella let her brows jump, “Ĉu vi ankoraŭ kisis ŝin?” She beamed at her daughter, smirking at the little squeak that he question brought. _Oh, my Little Bird! Falling in love sets the foundation. All the late night talks, all the quiet moments, all the sneaky ways you two find time to spend together. Have you kissed her yet?_

Raven shrunk under her curious stare, blushing down to her roots. Arella ran a thumb over her palm at her reaction, musing, “Mi supozas ne.” _I guess not._

Shaking her head, the mother ran a hand through the mage’s hair, “Estas tute bone. Kun ĉio, kio moviĝas tiel rapide, verŝajne estas bone preni fizikajn aferojn malrapide kaj--” Raven looked mortified and cut Arella off before she could continue, “Mi estas kreskulino, Patrino.” _It’s quite alright. With everything moving so fast it’s probably good to take physical things slow and-- I’m a grown woman, Mother._

Charcoal eyes rolled back and the matriarch tutted, “Ne tio kreskis.” _Not that grown._

Still horrified at the new direction of their conversation, Raven pinched right below her pyrope, knowing that her mother wasn’t going to let this go, “Mi scias pri la ... fizikaj aspektoj de rilatoj.” _I know about the… physical aspects of relationships._

Arella giggled, “Tiu semajno longa kurso faras kelkajn jarojn sufiĉis?” _That week long course a few years ago was enough?_

“Sufiĉe parolante pri tio kun mia patrino, jes.” Raven playfully rolled her eyes, her face softening as her mother’s light laughter ended with a cough. Still, her breathing was regular and she hadn’t soaked a handkerchief in blood since Cassandra left, so Raven brought her hands up and kissed her mother’s knuckles. _Enough when talking about it with my mother, yes._

Arella snickered at her words, her eyes squeezing shut as a heavy yawn forced its way out of her. “Estas malfrue, Patrino. Vi ne devus provi resti veki se vi estas laca.” A thin smile curled Arella’s lips and Raven brought her fingertips up to brush her pyrope. “Cassandra kaj mi ankoraŭ restos ĉi tie matenmanĝe. Krome ni preterpasis la arĝentajn arbustojn kaj hiesysuckle kaj ili estas maturaj.” The healer teasingly sung out her words as she raised up to peck her mother’s forehead again. _It’s late, Mother. You shouldn’t try to stay awake if you’re that tired. Cassandra and I will still be here at breakfast. Besides, we passed the blueberry bushes and honeysuckle and they’re ripe._

Smiling softly at the wave of tiredness that swept over her empathy, Raven murmured, “Ĉu ni volas atendi, ĝis post matenmanĝo, por elekti ilin kun vi?” _Want us to wait until after breakfast to pick them with you?_

Arella nodded and patted her daughter’s hand. She closed her eyes and settled down for sleep, her breath evening out within a minute. Pushing down her worry at how quickly her mother fell unconscious, Raven laid her head on her chest, ensuring that the matriarch’s heartbeat was regular enough. Luckily, Arella’s breathing was steady even as the incense kept the room smelling of sage and lemongrass, so she leaned back on her haunches. 

The mage stood, fondly glancing around the cottage and lacing her fingers in front of her chest as she took a few calming breaths. One of the curtains shifted and she turned, watching as Cassandra silently strolled in. Holding a finger up to her lips, Raven grabbed the princess’ hand and they left the cottage. 

Raven paused just a few steps outside, taking a deep breath of the night air. She glanced east, noting the barest hint of pastel along the inky sky’s edge. “The sun will be rising in about two hours,” The mage murmured as she took the princess’ arm. Her lips tightening into a thin line, her pale fingers intertwined along Cass’ tanned ones, the pads of her thumbs running along the princess’ scars. 

Glancing up at a particularly large nest, the mage let her lashes slide shut, her feet moving along paths she had memorized throughout her life. “I’m glad this went so well,” Raven admitted, her head tilting back to gaze at the moon, “With Mother unable to speak English in this state, I was worried things would be worse.”

_Really?_ , Cassandra asked. She leaned against Raven’s shoulder as the mage led them around, seamlessly weaving through the grasses around cottages and patches where the flocks were sleeping. Some of the goats raised their heads as they passed, only to let out a few short bleats as they recognized the mage. “Truly,” Raven affirmed, “Mother didn’t want me to only speak Azarathian. We only speak it together under the most dire of circumstances.” A soft, trembling laugh forced its way out of her throat, the sound making some of the birds ruffle their feathers in their nests, “The last time we spoke, it was in English. We knew that I would probably be able to visit at least _once_ before…” Violet eyes squeezed impossibly shut, the woman still unable to even speak the possibility. 

The princess squeezed their intertwined fingers and, taking a steadying breath, Raven continued, “But she’s _close_ , my Princess. Mi _neniam_ vidis ŝin malforta antaŭe. I just-- I just don’t know. _Azar_ , I really don’t, I don’t think I can do this.” She desperately brought their hands up to her chest, her shoulders curling in on themselves as Cassandra pulled her into her arms. The royal led them to a tree and leaned her weight along the trunk, shifting so that Raven did the same, “Mi bedaŭras, ke mi ankoraŭ malpliiĝas kiel ĉi tio, mia--my Princess. Succession usually doesn’t start until the heir’s twenty-fifth birthday and I-- Mi, ho _Azar_ , ĉiuj birdoj en la ĉielo! I haven’t even finished _half_ of the tasks necessary to become the next High Priestess.” Shakily, she leaned their foreheads together. Blobby tears toppled over her lashes to stain the bark and mauve eyes shut tight as she calmed her breathing. _I’ve never seen her that weak before. I’m sorry I keep falling apart like this, my--. I, oh Azar, all the birds in the sky!_

Taking a moment to compose herself, Raven tucked her forehead in the crook of the princess’ neck, glad that her armor was gone. “Thanks for coming here with me,” She murmured, feeling as Cassandra shivered when her lips brushed her skin, “I really enjoy having you in my life.” 

The mage could tell by the way Cassandra shifted underneath her that she signed out, _Yeah?_

“Mmhmm,” Raven hummed, leaning up to peck the noble’s cheek again, “You make me incredibly happy, too.” Cassandra blushed as her words were thrown back to her, giggling as Raven reached up to tuck a short lock of inky hair behind her ear.

They stared at each other for a moment before Raven broke the short lived silence, “I don’t really want to go to my room just yet. Are you tired?”

The princess shrugged, _Not really. All the commotion, all the adrenaline… Why?_ Her brows jumped in question, a wicked smile curling her lips, _You have something in mind?_

“Well, I don’t know how much you like space, but we have an observatory.” Raven pointed towards the highest building in Azarath, watching as the princess noted its base connecting to the Temple. “We only have about an hour of night left but the sky's clear and the stars are bound to be _gorgeous_.” Cassandra also couldn’t help but notice how Raven looked over her at the word. The mage abruptly cleared her throat, her cheeks blushing as she continued, her words coming out a tinge faster than normal, “And at this time of year we’ll probably be able to see Venus too.” 

The princess grinned at her, _Let’s go, then._

Biting her lip to hold back her smile, Raven tugged at their intertwined hands and led them towards the Temple. They separated to walk up the stairs, the mage leading the way up the wooden steps. 

Cassandra softly gasped as the they entered the observatory, her brown eyes widening at all the glass that surrounded them: small, circular glasses to be held up against the eye to see the moon’s craters; large thin panels that spotted the ceiling, showing off the night sky to whoever was within; stained glass murals of the moon and of asteroids, small enough to be held in one’s hand. Raven led them around the benches and desks in the center of the room, quilts spilling over the sides of the boxes underneath them. The mage’s steps were light as she gestured towards the magnificently spun tapestries that mapped out all the constellations, depicting how the night sky changed on location and time of year. 

“These are better seen during the daytime,” She murmured, leading them to the westernmost corner of the room. As the princess sat down on one of the old benches Raven grabbed two of the magnifying glasses and opened the curtains as wide as they could go. Grinning widely, the mage grabbed Cassandra’s hand, “Hold it like this,” she softly instructed, nearly wrapping her arms around the younger woman’s shoulders to demonstrate. 

Cassandra’s eyes went wide with wonder as the hidden stars revealed themselves beyond the glass, tiny specks of blue and white glittering in the once completely dark patches of the sky. The princess eagerly turned her head from side to side as she took everything in, an astounded laugh bubbling out of her as a bug flew past, its wings in shockingly clear detail in the moon’s light. 

A particularly bright speck glimmered and Cassandra stood. She walked up to the glass and balanced on the tips of her toes, curiously taking in how the star sparkled better than any jewel ever could. Behind her, Raven chuckled from her spot on the bench. Pale fingers lazily toyed with the ends of her hair for a moment, watching as the princess gazed at as many stars as she could, twisting this way and that. 

After a few more minutes of stargazing, the royal felt her ears twitch as soft humming started to fill the room. She glanced back at Raven, a tender smile on her face. The mage was nearly asleep as she languidly twirled the ends of her hair in between her fingers, a steady hum escaping her lips. It didn’t take long for Cassandra to notice that the song must’ve been a lullaby. 

The princess sat down again and rested her head on Raven’s shoulder, hearing as the hums slowly morphed into quiet mumbles of Azarathian, “En la mallumaj pinoj la vento malkonstruas sin… La luno brilas kiel fosfora sur la vagantaj akvoj… Tagoj, ĉiuj unu speco, iru persekuti unu la alian.” Cassandra snuggled into the mage’s side, a lazy smile on her lips as she listened. _In the dark pines the wind disentangles itself… The moon glows like phosphorous on the vagrant waters… Days, all one kind, go chasing each other._

Softly, she poked Raven’s side and asked, _Is that a song?_

“It’s one of my favorite poems,” The healer sleepily drawled. Raven’s mouth opened as if to speak something else but she paused; after a moment, she shook her head and stood, stretching her arms up as she went. Padding over to the desks, she pulled out an armful of the many quilts from underneath the desks and piled them on the floor. She lazily laid down and curled on her side, sighing as she bundled some of the fabric up to use as a pillow. 

Cassandra raised a brow in silent question but joined her, laying on her back. The magnifying glass was still tight in her grasp and she looked out beyond the window at the stars. Raven scooted closer. The princess mimicked her and their arms brushed. 

Mahogany eyes met violet ones and Raven murmured, “Sorry, but if I stayed sitting there I was bound to fall asleep.” She propped herself up on her elbow, sleepily grinning as her hair tumbled down and pooled over the quilts, “You seem to like when I read you poetry,” she quietly observed. 

At the way Cassandra nodded and pitched forward just a hair, her own excitement subdued in the quiet of the observatory and the late hour, Raven let her eyes slid shut. “I’m a bit tired so the translation may be a bit skewed, but here goes.”

The mage took a breath in, “The snow unfurls in dancing figures. / A silver gull slips down from the west. / Sometimes a sail. High, high stars. / Oh the black cross of a ship. / Sole.” She lazily inched her fingers towards Cassandra’s as she softly recited the long-since memorized lines, a smile curling her lips as the princess hooked their pinkies together. _Alone._

“Sometimes I get up early and even my soul is wet. / Far away the sea sounds and resounds. / This is a port.” Raven paused, her eyelids fluttering halfway open in indecision. She continued a breath later, “Jen mi amas vin.”

“Jen mi amas vin... and the horizon hides you in vain. / Mi amas vin still among these cold things. / Sometimes my kisses go on those heavy vessels / that cross the sea towards no arrival. / I see myself forgotten like those old anchors.” Cassandra looked up, her brows furrowing when Raven continued on, not bothering to translate. 

“The piers sadden when the afternoon moors there. / My life grows tired, hungry to no purpose. / Mi amas… what I do not have. You are so far. / My loathing wrestles with the slow twilights. But night comes and starts to sing to me.” Raven pulled the princess’ hand up to her lips and kissed her knuckles, smiling against a scar that she’d memorized. “The moon turns its clockwork dream. / The biggest stars look at me with your eyes. / And as mi amas vin, the pines in the wind / want to sing your name with their leaves of wire.”

Cassandra lazily turned on her side as the mage’s voice trailed off. She sleepily blinked as the quiet of the room rang in her ears. The princess drummed her fingers along Raven’s wrist, mouthing the words as she tried to think of a sign to accompany it. _‘Mi amas vin?’_

“The name of the poem,” The Azarathian muttered, “‘Jen mi amas vin.’ It’s quite a nice one, isn’t it? Pablo Neruda wrote it.” She moved onto her stomach and gazed fondly down at the princess. Her hand came up to trace along the shorter woman’s jawline and she watched as Cassandra’s tongue darted out to lick her lips. 

_What does it mean?_ , the royal signed.

“Jen mi amas vin?” 

Cassandra nodded and Raven leaned down until their faces were only a breath apart. “Jen me amas vin, mia Princino.” Mahogany eyes flicked from pale lips to mauve eyes and back again. Hesitantly, tan fingers tangled in the mage’s hair and brought her down another inch, giggling nervously as their noses bumped together. 

“My Princess,” Raven murmured, fully leaning over the younger woman. Trembling, she let their lips brush; too faint to be a peck, but gave Cassandra enough confidence to grab at the mage’s arms.

Raven nudged their noses again and the princess’ lashes fluttered shut. Grinning at the move despite how her arms were shaking, Raven ignored her nerves and muttered a soft, “Here I love you,” into the charged space in between them. 

The fighter’s lips fell open at her words but Raven paid the little gasp no mind, arching down to finally, _finally_ , lay a kiss on Cassandra’s lips. 

Moving softly and shyly, Cassandra ran her fingers through the mage’s hair as she tried to learn her mouth’s movements. Lucky for her, Raven seemed to be just as inexperienced, her palms timidly laying along the princess’ waist. The mage accidentally ran her hands up the fighter’s ribs and Cassandra let out a little squeak; worried that she’d done something wrong, Raven pulled away. 

Although she was fighting for breath and half-deaf from the clap of her heartbeat thundering in her ears, an anxious look graced the mage’s features as she started to move off of the princess. Cassandra’s fingers tightened in her hair, a small smile forming when Raven immediately froze at the move. 

Too nervous and too enamored with their current position to sign, the princess moved her hands down to cup Raven’s chin. She shakily smiled at the older woman and, at the relaxed way the tension left the mage’s shoulder, Cassandra girlishly giggled and pulled her down to kiss her again.


	8. Calm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the mission done, what's the harm in relaxing until it's time to leave?

Cassandra lazily leaned her head on Raven’s shoulder as they sat on the ground. She was confident that she could hold back her blush at their proximity and intertwined hands, but Arella’s girlish coos at them was proving to be too hard to ignore. The mage had taken to palming her face, her bright blush already creeping down her neck. “Mother,” Raven’s voice was more of a rasp than anything, “Can we pick berries _in peace_ , please?”

“Ho?” Arella was practically glowing as she leaned back against the tree trunk, her hands pressed to her face, “Ĉu vi jam havas ion dolĉa?” _Oh? Did you two already have something sweet?_

_She’s as bad as my brothers_ , Cassandra signed, her embarrassed chuckles keeping her from filling her basket. Raven nodded in agreement, although she didn’t attempt to hold back the small smile at her mother’s teasing. The woman was _much_ livelier when she wasn’t bundled up in her room, and the sight of her sitting down with her own power pleased the mage more than words could explain. 

“Vi scias,” Arella practically _sung_ the words, leaning back against the tree’s trunk, “Mi ĝojas ke vi fine kisis. Tre diferenco pri kiel vi ambaŭ moviĝas.” _You know, I’m glad that you two finally kissed. Quite a difference in how you both move._

Raven’s face fell, the blush starting to creep down her neck, “Mother.” Not even attempting to hide her chuckles behind her hand, Arella shrugged her shoulders, “Estas vere. Ŝi certe aspektas pli feliĉa kiam vi ĉirkaŭas.” _It’s true. She certainly looks happier when you’re around._

The two Azarathians glanced at the princess, who had taken to plucking more berries off the bush. Cassandra squeaked as a pigeon landed on her head, ruffling its downy feathers as it got comfortable. Raven chuckled as a fluffy chick tottered up to her, aiming for the dark berries in her pale hand. Its equally fluffy siblings stayed behind. 

“Vidu!” Arella giggled and picked up another of the chicks, lightly running her nails along its feathers, “Patrinoj povas rakonti, kiam estas aliaj amikoj.” Raven rolled her eyes, her smile bright as she softly rolled a few berries over to the shy chicks and placed one on Cassandra’s head. _See! Mothers can tell when there are other lovebirds nearby._

Ignoring her mother’s not-so-subtle fawning over them, the mage pressed a soft kiss to the princess’ cheek. Cassandra beamed at the attention and raised her face, stealing a quick peck from pale pink lips. 

Arella clapped her hands once, the sound making the two younger women turn to her. She unwrapped the scarf around her wrist and carefully tied her long hair up into a braid, “Mi certas, ke vi du ne bezonas min krampi vian romantikan spacon,” she said. _I’m sure you two don’t need me cramping your romantic space._

Understanding that she was being addressed, Cassandra glanced at the mage. “She doesn’t want to intrude on our alone time,” Raven murmured to the princess, aiming a pointed look at her mother right after, “Eĉ kvankam ni _eble_ elspezu tiom multe da tempo kun vi kiel eble, kiom mallonga nia restado estos.” _Even though we_ should _be spending as much time with you as possible, given how short our stay will be._

Clearing her throat, Arella bit back a sigh of relief when no blood came up. Knowing that Raven certainly felt that relief, she met the empath’s gaze and winked at her daughter, “Malgraŭ ĉiu, la acólitos bezonas helpon en la organizo de ĉiuj ruloj kaj semoj.” The matriarch glanced between the two, noting how their hands had yet to separate. A smile crossed her face, deepening the lines around her mouth, “Mi lasos vin du tuj, tiam.” _Regardless, the acolytes may need some assistance in organizing all the scrolls and seeds. I’ll leave you two right away, then._

Grunting as she sat upright, Arella waved off Raven’s hands, “Mi povas esti malsana, sed mi ne estas _tiel_ malnova. Lasu min stari sur mia propra.” Balancing against the tree trunk, the mother shakily stood, bracing her palms on her knees. _I may be sick, but I’m not_ that _old. Let me stand on my own._

Catching her breath, she looked up and grabbed Cassandra’s hands, “Estas mirinda, mia Princino.” The royal nodded, seeming to understand her words. Her mahogany gaze flicked to Raven as Arella continued, “Iru pasigi tempon esplorante, amuzi.” Arella playfully tilted her head down at the short princess, “Lunĉo estas tagmeze, do vi havas kelkajn markojn. Uzu ilin bone, ŝi estas iom obstina.” Cassandra blinked, but didn't ask for a translation; Arella's sly stance said enough. _It’s been wonderful, my Princess. Go spend some time exploring, have some fun. Lunch is at noon, so you have a few marks. Use them well, she’s being a bit stubborn._

Without letting go of Cassandra’s hands, Arella stared at her daughter, “Venu nun, mia Birdeto. Ni ambaŭ scias ke estas urĝaĵo en la aero, sed ne malhelpas ĉi tiun tempon zorgi pri milito.” She lifted a thin hand and cupped the mage’s cheek, “Prenu ŝin al la observatorio, aŭ eĉ la forcejo. La biblioteko eble iomete trapasas la pakadon, sed vi pensos pri io.” _Come now, my Little Bird. We both know there’s urgency in the air, but don’t waste this time worrying about war. Take her to the observatory, or even the greenhouse. The library may be a bit threadbare with the packing, but you’ll think of something._

Picking up the baskets of berries, Arella patted the princess’ hands once more and started off, her steps slow yet steady as she headed towards the temple. Raven called out to her back, “Nur kuraĝu por acolito se vi bezonas nin!” Her mother waved the words aside and the mage turned back to Cassandra. _Just yell for an acolyte if you need us!_

“Mother’s going to help the acolytes organize everything. But we have a few hours before lunch,” Raven shyly tugged at some stray hairs that poked out of her braid. “We won’t need to check up on the soldiers for a while, did you want to look around a bit?”

The princess tilted her head to the side but nodded, timidly reaching for Raven’s hand again. The mage intertwined their fingers and began led her opposite the way Arella went. 

Cassandra looked around as they went off the route, the springy grass giving way to tall brush whose burrs clung to their skirts. Raven led them the long way, keeping towards the edge of the cottages. A few flocks of goats lifted their heads as the two women passed, grass poking out from their mouths. 

_So much nature_ , the princess signed, her gaze roaming over the area. The Azarathian nodded, fondly watching as the sun shone down on the sheer amount of flora. Tall, prickly bushes dotted with bright flowers, trees held up egg-filled nests on twisted branches, and long stems dotted with thorns poked out near the trail’s edge. So different from the carefully maintained plots of the Manor’s courtyards. “We don’t cut anything down when we migrate,” Raven explained, sidestepping a cluster of rocks laden with mushrooms, “I mean, we trim a bit on the busier paths, but nothing more than that.” 

As they passed a oak tree split in half, scarred from lightning from long ago, the mage ran her thumb over Cassandra’s knuckles. “Over there,” She murmured, motioning to the glass cottage that rested on top of one of the few hills that dotted the land. 

The princess’ eyes went wide as she took in all the beehives and berry bushes around the greenhouse, squeezing Raven’s hand as they entered. Warmth radiated from the thick glass walls and Cassandra’s brows raised at the sheer amount of plant types that surrounded them. She spun around as she took them all in, trying to decipher how they were categorized. A mass of green leafy bushes grew right next to the door, a multicolored plethora of flowers bloomed right in the center of the room, and the laden vines climbed all four walls. Glancing towards the corner, the princess spotted a familiar spread, nearly identical in all the herbs that the mage cultivated back at the Manor. Leaning towards them, Cassandra sniffed the air, recognizing the scent of lemongrass and sage. 

Raven lead her in further, pointing out the jutting edges of pots and guiding them away from the hovering bees as they went. Tucked away neatly near the windows was the aloe vera, the peppermint was flourishing amidst a patch of purple and gold flowers that the noble couldn’t name, and bushfuls of sage, chamomile, and rosemary threatened to overwhelm the western wall. 

A dragonfly fluttered in the air, hovering near the royal’s hair. Raven laughed at the sight, bending down to peck her cheek. “The bees are pretty calm, but these guys are curious. Hope you don’t mind?”

Cassandra shook her head and pressed their shoulders together. _They’re so colorful_ , she signed, feeling as Raven nodded. A pale hand rose up in front of them and the dragonfly landed on her raised palm. She grinned, tucking her face down to kiss behind Cassandra’s ear, “My Princess?” The mage’s voice was light and airy, the contrast with her usually raspy voice sending wonderful shivers down the princess’ spine. The mage pitched forward and aimed a smile at the younger woman, “If you wouldn’t mind, perhaps you could teach me some more words?”

Cassandra raised a brow and Raven hastened to add, “I can sound out the words just fine, but I would like to know the specific shapes for everyday things.” She lifted her hand and the dragonfly flew off. With her hands free Raven fiddled with her rings, her gaze flicking to the floor, “We mainly covered words for items and tasks that are done at the Manor. I was hoping to learn more nature and maybe even magic-based words.”

_Of course!_ , Cassandra agreed, looking around to look for a place to sit. Raven tugged at her arm, leading her to one of the wooden benches that perched against the potted plots of sprouts. The princess settled in, comfortably slumping against the wall. She stretched out her legs and lazily grinned up at the mage, asking, _Are you ready?_

Raven softly moved her fingers, _Yes. What will we start with?_

Humming softly, the princess held up her hands and made the symbol for _dragonfly_ , watching as the mage struggled to mimic the princess’ moves to the best of her ability. Together, they practiced for nearly half a mark, the lushness of the greenhouse brightening as the sun found its place in the center of the sky. 

Taking a deep breath, Raven signed a phrase, _These white flowers are called lilies and when the sunset occurs they will look like marigolds_. The noble nodded in approval, looking up and noticing just how high in the sky the sun had risen. _It’s getting late, but Arella said we’d have a few hours_ , Cassandra noted, _Can we continue for a little bit longer?_

“Actually, my Princess,” The mage softly murmured, hands folding in her lap. The royal raised a brow at her, tilting her head to the side. Raven’s tongue flicked out to wet her lips and she pitched forward an inch, “I have one more question: how would you sign the word ‘kiss?’”

The mage’s lips split in a lazy smile as Cassandra blushed, her hands stilling. Slowly, the royal curled her fingers and signed out a phrase, _Can you use it in a sentence?_

Amethyst eyes read her fingers and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, inching forward until their knees touched. Her pale fingertips shakily touched the princess’ wrist and their gazes met. 

Raven swallowed thickly, “How would I sign the question, ‘May I kiss you?’”

A shiver danced its way down Cassandra’s spine as the healer’s pale fingers slid up to rest on her bicep. Her mahogany eyes flicked from Raven’s pale lips to her eyes and back again. The noble brought a hand up to her mouth. _May I kiss you?_ , she signed. 

The older woman held up her fist and leaned in, her lashes fluttering shut as their foreheads pressed together, _Yes_.

Softly, instinctively, the princess felt her eyes widen. Any urge to laugh at the Azarathian’s sappiness was overwhelmed by the scent of chamomile and dirt. Cassandra blinked at her and signed against her side, half serious and half incredulous, _Really?_

Raven bumped their noses together, their lips hovering less than a hair’s width away, “Of course. I thought you’d never ask.” Her teasing was punctuated with a slow smile and she pressed closer, pulling until the princess was all but in her lap. 

Flustered at the attention but impatient at the teasing, Cassandra slid her hands up to the mage’s hair. Languidly, her fingers trailed down to trace Raven’s lips. She pulled away to sign, _You've kissed me already, you don’t need to ask._

“Shh,” Blushing, Raven rubbed their noses together, “I’m trying to be romantic.” 

The princess’ lips split in a wide smile, _Secretly a sap AND a tease, aren’t you?_

The mage leaned forward and pecked the corner of her mouth, “Nothing secret about it, my Princess.” Giggling, Cassandra pulled her face down and kissed her properly, humming in the back of her throat when the mage’s hands slid up around her sides.

A sigh escaped her as Raven smoothly moved her mouth along her own, their movements more confident than the night before. Softly, their mouths slotted together and their heads tilted to deepen the kiss. Their foreheads knocked together and Cassandra giggled, their lips brushing together until they locked again. 

Raven hesitantly pulled away when air became a factor, her eyes fluttering open as she panted, blushing and wide-eyed. And judging by her darkened cheeks and how firmly her fingers were tangled in the older woman’s hair, the princess wasn’t faring any better.

Scooting closer, Cassandra situated herself in Raven’s lap, careful to not scrape the mage with her under-armor. The Azarathian arched her shoulders down for more kisses, not caring about propriety or her back as she let her hands trail lower, settling on the armorless expanse of the royal’s hips.

Emboldened by the thumbs rubbing circles along her thighs, the princess broke the kiss and let her mouth explore, pecking down the mage’s chin and to her jawline. Cassandra languidly pressed kisses to the underside of Raven’s jaw, chuckling as the woman shifted underneath her. Pale hands ran up to hold Cassandra’s own, her pale fingertips tracing the hints of scars along the tan skin. 

Raven's voice was breathless as she mumbled, “This… this isn't fair.” The mage intertwined their hands and squeezed, pouting when the princess paid her words no mind. That pout morphed into a gasping moan as Cassandra trailed her lips down to her pulse, hesitantly placing a bite to her skin, “ _Stelara!_ ” 

There was a pause between them that last a few long seconds, until the princess raised her face, her brows rising curiously as she took in the flush of embarrassment that filled Raven’s face. The question was clear on her face so Cassandra kept their hands connected. Her thumbs rubbed against pale knuckles and Raven broke, softly mumbling, “ _Stelara…_ ”

_That sounds like a name_ , the princess noted.

The mage blushed even darker, biting her lip nervously, “It’s a… nickname, of sorts.” 

Cassandra tilted her head but didn’t sign. Taking the invitation, Raven explained, “It means ‘like a constellation.’ Azar dubbed the term when she spoke the _marŝante_ and it stuck. The monks usually use it to refer to children, but the acolytes, especially those that married and had lovers, they used them as terms of endearment.” 

_That word, is it another parable? Like the--_ Cassandra’s brows furrowed as she wrote out the letters, _pacismo idea you explained a while ago?_

“Well, yes.” Pulling the princess closer, Raven rested all her weight against the wall as a nervous little sigh escaped her, “To make it short, _marŝante_ is Azarathian for seafaring. When we migrate in the late summer, we go to _patrujo_ , our homeland.” She met Cassandra’s curious gaze, “It’s a small island where the first temple was built. There’s a thin rocky passage that ends up above water once fall arrives and the sea level goes down a bit.” 

She paused, as if considering something. A shy smile spread on her lips, “I don’t know if you’re a fan of water --to be honest, I’m not-- but the sight is almost as pretty as you are.” Raven met the younger woman’s gaze, “I think you’d like it.”

The mage’s eyes read Cassandra’s question, knowing it was really a request, _Will you take me someday?_

Leaning forward to kiss a tanned fingertip, Raven nodded. She kept her lips on her darling’s hand as she quietly spoke, “During the first _marŝante_ , two men spoke of their children and how they are like constellations,” Pale fingers lazily traced mindless patterns along a gnarled scar that graced the princess’ hip, “Azar agreed with them, called them _stelara_. After her death, the first acolytes used them as pet-names for their most beloved, lovers included.”

She slyly grinned and stole another kiss, “I’ll be sure to use some of them on you, sometimes.” Cassandra lazily rested their foreheads together, mindful of the pyrope pushing into her skin, _You’re full of sap and stories, huh?_

“I’ve somehow found myself in the princess’ favor, haven’t I?” Giggling as she stole another kiss, the mage added, “And I _am_ set to be the next High Priestess, _Stelara_ ,” Cassandra grinned at the nickname and Raven cuddled closer, “I have to know all the parables by heart. All the migration routes, all the alliances, all the spells and recipes.” 

The royal perked up at the last word, _I didn’t know you could cook_. She knew the woman could brew any tea to be absolutely delicious, but she’d always seemed overwhelmed watching Alfred and the cooks move about in the kitchens.

Raven bit the inside of her cheek, “You know that I can’t.” Groaning at Cassandra’s growing smile, the mage hid her face in the crook of the princess’ neck, “Stop it.” 

The younger woman shrugged, but Raven knew what she meant: _‘I’m not doing anything, honest.’_

“Now who’s teasing, my Princess?” She punctuated her sentence with a firm kiss against tan skin, feeling Cassandra’s pulse under her mouth. The princess gasped and pulled her closer, tilting her head back as Raven dotted her neck with kisses.

A dragonfly curiously fluttered around Cassandra’s face, making her eyes snap open. The princess laughed and reached down to steady herself before she toppled off the mage’s lap. As she did, mahogany eyes caught sight of a clay pot nearly overflowing with mint; the ceramic had been carefully engraved with script and even some… were those sketches?

Raven seemed to notice the woman’s lapse in attention and looked up, curious. She kissed Cassandra’s chin, “Darling?”

The royal pointed at the pot, _What are those?_

“Oh,” Amethyst eyes shined as the Azarathian leaned back, motioning towards the additional script that graced the bench that they sat on. Raven smiled fondly down at the carved script, tenderly running her fingers over the them, “These are the condensed form of some of Azar’s most sacred teachings. They’re the floral runes.”

Her chin tilted towards the front of the greenhouse, “Everything that isn’t a plant, glass, or the floor has them. Although most are just a phrase or two.” Cassandra looked up, finally noticing the small symbols that peeked out from the leaves and vines all around them. The princess’ head tilted, remembering the brief explanation she got nearly a decade ago about how etchings were supposed to be placed according to how chaotic one wanted the magic to work. The gaudy-clothed man who gave her the lesson popped into her head, _Reminds me of the Fate Doctor,_ she signed.

Raven’s brows furrowed and her lips quirked down, “Of the Nelson family? A helmet blessed with a ‘solid gold’ trim? Usually arrives either just before or just after a lightning storm?” Cassandra’s brows raised at the questions and the specificity of her description, lazily taking in her lover’s suddenly agitated body language, surprised. Her brows inched up even further, _You know him?_

“Unfortunately,” Violet eyes rolled back in annoyance and she pressed her cheek to the princess’ temple, “He once tried to convince Azarath to allow our healing herbs to be associated with him.” Cassandra was becoming acutely aware that Raven fidgeted when she was annoyed, her fingers twitchy as they rolled along the princess’ hips. Still, she knew that she should be listening and not focusing on how _wonderful_ the mage’s hands felt on her as she explained, “His ‘medical’ magic is _completely_ unfounded. Just flashy lights and over the top dramatics that are used to ‘awe and amaze.’” 

The royal couldn’t keep the smile off her face despite Raven’s words. It was rare to see the woman so animated in such a grumpy way. She hummed as she pressed a kiss to the underside of the mage’s jaw, “Mmhmm.”

Raven tilted her head to give Cassandra more space, but she didn’t stop her rant, “And then he has the _audacity_ to act as if his magic is anything more than timing and manipulation of the rich’s fear of their stupid money being squandered after their deaths by their stupid children.”

Cassandra looked up, _Father brought in the Fate Doctor once. A bit after Damian started trying to live in the barns._

The mage paused, “Even good people slip up sometimes.”

The noble giggled and pulled away, giving her lover a lopsided smile as she stole a quick peck. Raven sighed and rested their foreheads together, “Sorry for ranting.” She paused her apology to press their noses together, grinning as Cassandra’s shoulders wriggled at the move, “It’s just… the Fate Doctor is someone Prince Jason would call a ‘turd-blazing rantallion.’ And he’d be absolute correct, if we’re being honest. His brand of magic is just… _ugh_.” 

Smiling to keep back her chuckles, the princess pressed their lips together in a slow kiss. Her hands lazily traced the line of the mage’s neckline, but her curiosity was obvious and Raven languidly broke the kiss and murmured into the space between them, “While they can be personalized by the mystic, there are many different classes of magic, _Stelara_.”

Cassandra’s lips curled into a smile at the name. 

The mage happily pecked that smile, continuing, “You know about the floral and healing magic that I do, but there’s also blood and chaos magic as well, but they’re usually called dark magic. I --um,” While Raven obviously wanted to explain properly, the princess’ wandering hands were proving to be difficult to ignore. Especially as her tan fingers fiddled with the buttons just below the healer’s ribs. 

Taking a deep breath (that did absolutely _nothing_ for her nerves), Raven tried to continue, “I am familiar with all of them, but, uh--” apparently, Cassandra was a _horrid_ listener when she had an opportunity for kisses. The mystic cleared her throat and leaned her head back, giving the princess access to her neck. When the royal put all her attention of kissing all the skin that she could, Raven whimpered, “You, umm, you want me to explain later?”

Cassandra smiled against her neck and nodded, marching her kisses up the pale neck and back to the healer’s lips. Raven let out a gasping sort of laugh as the princess wrapped her arms around her neck, “My Princess!”

Said princess brought her hand up and placed a finger in the thin space in between their lips, “Shh.” 

Raven shakily nodded, her whole face flushed as she leaned down and their lips met again. 

\-- 

Cassandra sighed as she cuddled closer in the mage’s lap, her nose firmly pressed in the crook of Raven’s neck and her lips stuck on top of her collar in a frozen kiss. Pale fingers tenderly ran through her hair, occasionally stopping to shoo away a dragonfly or beetle that got too bold. 

A pigeon landed on top of the greenhouse, cooing loudly and the women looked up, noticing how late it had gotten. With the sun nearly in the center of the sky, Raven rolled her shoulders and straightened her back, stretching her arms as she jostled the princess in her lap, “Ready for lunch, Darling?”

Cassandra smiled at the title and nodded, sluggishly standing up. She pulled Raven up and stretched, a happy hum slipping out of her as her spine popped. Her fingers intertwined with the mage’s as they strolled out of the greenhouse. The royal let her gaze wander as she took in the gnarled tree roots that shielded the path from the river, her brows furrowing as she noticed a very familiar crest.

Tugging on the mage’s hand to get her attention, Cassandra led them towards a poplar that bore her family’s bat symbol, a small tablet resting in a gnarled knot near its base. The princess picked up the clay pad, her brows jumping as she took in how eroded the edges were. This was at least a few years, if not a decade old…

Raven rested against her from behind and pressed her lips to her love’s hair, “Remember my first night at the Manor? All those marks ago?” 

Cassandra chuckled as she looked up, nodding, _It may have been only a half moon, but you were just as gorgeous then._

A smile hidden behind a kiss to her nape, “Remember how Richard hugged me and how Jason recognized me the next morning?” Already so physically close, Raven felt as the royal shifted, her curiosity obvious. Kissing the short strands again, the mage murmured, “Your father brought Richard and Jason with him to Azarath once… I believe I was about five or so.”

Leisurely leaning down until their cheeks touched, Raven traced the painted bat symbol with her fingers. She smiled, turning her head and kissing the princess’ cheek as they began to sway, “It was right about the time Prince Richard began his training. King Bruce wanted more healing herbs and he and mother ended up completely reworking our alliance.”

The mage looked up, lazily smirking at one of the branches, “Richard was looking at some eggs and fell from this tree.” A pause as a smile slowly curled on her lips, “It was absolutely hilarious.”

Cassandra tried to keep her face calm but couldn’t, her giggles slipping out as she shakily put the tablet back. She turned around and reached up, letting her lips brush against Raven’s. The princess pulled away after a moment, _Did they stay long?_

“No,” The mage seemed intent to get one more kiss, and Cassandra was more than willing to help her. Beaming as she rested their foreheads together, Raven hummed out, “They weren’t even here a day. Both King Bruce and Mother don’t like to dawdle with contracts, but I think Prince Jason was the saddest to go.”

A breathy laugh escaped the royal and her eyes fluttered open, her hands rising up to rest on the mage’s arms, _Was it the library?_

“It was the library.” Using that as a segue, Raven began to lead her lover back towards Arella’s cottage. “Books and poems and personal diaries that should have been lost to time,” Her fingers intertwined with Cassandra's and squeezed, a light flutter in her chest when the princess squeezed back. Leisurely, the two strolled through Azarath, stopping to scratch at some goats’ chins and peeking up to see how the birds were doing as they anxiously rechecked their rests, preparing for the next season's challenges.

Arella smiled at the two as they entered her cottage, her brows arching in question as she sipped her tea. Her knowing grin made the lovers’ cheeks darken and the mother set aside her drink, motioning for them to come forward. “Ne maltrankviliĝu, mi amuzos min mem. Almenaŭ ĝis vi ricevos iom da manĝaĵo en vi.” _Don’t worry, I’ll keep my fun to myself. At least until you get some food in you._

Raven playfully rolled her eyes and glanced at the princess, “She says she’ll control herself.”

Cassandra winked at her and sat down next to Arella’s bed, wobbling a moment as she balanced on the stool. Arella eagerly handed her a fruit tart to try as Raven started filling their cups with tea, the scent mingling with the incense until it flooded the room. 

“Vi du odoriĝas kiel mento,” The matriarch noted, her gaze energetically flicking from the princess to her daughter and back again. “Ĉu vi prenis ŝin al la forcejo?” _You two smell like mint. Did you take her to the greenhouse?_

“I did.” Raven smiled as Cassandra immediately began miming a dragonfly and smelling flowers. The grin that split her dark lips was infectious and soon Arella was pitched forward, half-signing and half-explaining in Azarathian, “Tiuj libeloj estas malmolaj infaninoj, ĉu ne?” _Those dragonflies are feisty little creatures, aren’t they?_

Settling down near Arella’s feet, Raven simply watched the two for a moment, elated that the two most important people in her life were getting along so well, language issues aside. Fondly reaching up to stop the ends of her mother’s scarves from making a home in her tea, violet eyes shot up as Arella cooed, “Ho, kaj la kuroj! Kiuj sur la kaldronoj? Ĉu vi ankaŭ vidis ilin?” _Oh, and the runes! The ones on the pots? Did you see them as well?_

Charcoal eyes turned to her daughter, “Vi klarigis iujn el ili, ĉu ne?” She patted Cassandra’s hand, “Ŝi ŝajnas kiel la speco por ĝui bonan historion.” The princess signed out, _I really like poetry_. Her tan hands mimed unrolling a scroll and Arella’s eyes lit up, flicking to the stacks that lined one of the walls around them. Before she could request anything, her daughter spoke up, “That’s part of what made us late, actually.” _You explained some of them, right? She seems like the type to enjoy a good story._

Raven bit her lip, “Memoru kiam la reĝo Wayne unue reestructuris nian aliancon?” _Remember when King Wayne first restructured our alliance?_

“Mmhmm…” Arella put a hand to her chest, looking apologetically at the princess, “Sincere, mi unue pensis lin malsaĝulo. Sed evidente li scias, kion li faras.” Her eyes glanced to Cassandra’s free hand, knowing how often it grasped her daughter’s, “Ŝajnas ke vi ankaŭ faros, mia gemo.” _Honestly, I thought him a fool at first. But obviously he knows what he's doing. Seems you do as well, my gem._

Cassandra seemed to understand enough and stretched out, balancing all her weight on one of the stool’s legs to kiss the mage on her cheek. Raven blushed and Arella giggled, when a heart-stopping _BOOM!_ reverberated through the air, rattling the cottage a heartbeat later. In less than a second the princess was on her feet, shielding the two Azarathians from any falling scrolls as another, fainter _boom!_ echoed in the room. 

The sound of soldiers running made her head snap up and she immediately rushed to the door. She peeked her head out, mahogany eyes narrowing at the steadily rising plume of smoke. Obviously more than a few marks away from Azarath, but concerningly close to where central Gotham’s border began. 

Despite how the birds flapped up and out of their nests, circling in the air, and how the few flocks of livestock whined and anxiously pranced around, nothing seemed too disturbed by the blast. Only the sky bore any visible damage, a section turning dark gray as smoke wafted up; not close enough to immediately be hit with ash, but it would come. Cassandra noted that her soldiers were on edge but seemed to have the area secure, so she stepped back inside. 

The mage had already begun packing away their most important scrolls and stuffing as many herbs as she could into a chest. Her eyes met Cassandra’s, “How close was the explosion?” 

_Looks to be a bit more than a day’s travel, mostly southwest. We’ll miss all of it on the way back home_. The royal bit her lip and helped the healer close the chest, deciding to be blunt, _Can Azarath make the migration early?_

Mauve eyes closed and a heaving sigh escaped the tall woman, “Do you think we’ll be attacked?” Her fingers skipped around until they wrung in the edges of Arella’s quilt, anxiously squeezing until her knuckles turned white. 

Cassandra bit her lip, _The fire seems to be around the outskirts of central Gotham, just near the river's mouth. Simply fighting back the fires will give Azarath a week at most._ She ran her fingers through her short hair, her brows furrowing as she thought of their location and the processing mill not three days of horseback away, _But there’s a blacksmith guild not too far from the river’s mouth. If this is Slade, then he might be after them instead._

Raven shook her head, her eyes flicking around the room and landing on her mother, “He might not be.” 

The hunch of her shoulders, the tremble in her voice, something was wrong… But before the princess could ask, a soldier knocked on the cottage’s wall, the raps rapid and hurried. “My Princess!” He hissed, hunched nearly in half so as to not draw too much attention. 

Cassandra touched the back of Raven’s hand and tossed open the tapestry, her shoulders set. Instinctively, the soldier fell to attention, his head bowing. She narrowed her eyes and he explained, “The blast was from the southwest, we aren’t sure how close to the river. And unless the wind is unfavorable, the fire won’t affect Azarath too much. But look at the mountains,” He motioned to the second plume of smoke, nearly black but smaller than its gray companion. 

Short as the princess was, she could just barely make out how the tops of the mountains, already hidden by the country’s slopes and hills, were painted in golds and reds. It wouldn’t be long until the mines were engulfed; who knew how many immediate casualties, not to mention how the rest of the country would fare at the news. A worried sigh threatened to escape her as another, more personal thought came to her: the mountainsides would be consumed in flames within a day, so close to where Timothy’s route had taken him. 

The soldier tightened his gloves, bringing her attention back to him, “They’re targeting the mines, my Princess. Maybe even trying for the ports.”

Another concerning thought, this time of Richard and his informant, and their rivermouth route. Pinching under her eyes, the noble stood straighter, _Noted. Back to your station._

Nodding appreciatively, Cassandra waited until the soldier had jogged off to turn back to the cottage. Raven was trying to help Arella to her feet and both looked up at the princess as she all but picked the sick woman up. Thinly smiling despite the atmosphere, Raven snugly wrapped her mother’s shawl and blankets around her shoulders. 

Setting down Arella but holding her weight, Cassandra held up a hand and signed to the healer, _Two explosions. One near the river and the other on the mountaintops._

As strong as she was --as stoic as she was born and raised to be in the face of such disasters-- Cassandra let her chocolate eyes show Raven just how nervous she was. Richard and Timothy, but _especially_ Timothy, the mage knew just as well as she that their routes led them right where the blasts supposedly were. Securing her head wrap, Raven leaned forward and kissed her love, resting their foreheads together. 

Sighing, a pale hand reached down to intertwine with the princess’. “Your brothers are sturdy,” She murmured, her face stoic but her eyes warm as she pecked Cassandra again, “If they’re even half as resourceful as you are then we’ll see them as soon as we get back to the Manor.”

Raven glanced at her mother, “Migrado devas komenci frue, Patrino.” She ran a hand up and tucked a strand of her mother’s hair back, “Kiel nun, vi postrestos post morgaŭ nokto.” _Migration has to start early, Mother. As in, you’ll set off no later than tomorrow night._

“Mia Princino kaj mi restos sufiĉe longe por aranĝi eskorton kaj helpi fini pakadon. Sed ni devos forlasi antaŭ longe…” Her eyes flicked to the royal, “Prefere antaŭ hodiaŭa sunsubiro.” _My Princess and I will stay long enough to arrange an escort and help finish packing. But we’ll have to leave before long... Preferably before today’s sunset._

Arella’s lips tightened into a line, “Bone, mia Birdeto.” She propped herself up on Cassandra’s shoulder, smiling softly at the young woman, “Ni iru. Ne volas resti vin du longaj.” _Alright, Little Bird. Let’s get going. Don’t want to keep you two long._

Raven sighed, but her mother cut her words off before they could start, “Ĉi tiuj atakoj ne haltos krom se vi helpos ilin.” Her thin hand patted her daughter’s cheek, “Certigu, ke ĝi restas kiel eble plej natura.” Her charcoal eyes glanced at the rings on Raven’s fingers then the jewel in her head, “Se ĝi ne estas en Azarath, vi scias ke ni ne bezonas plu magion kurante ĉirkaŭe..” _These attacks aren’t going to stop unless you help them. Make sure it stays as natural as possible. If it’s not in Azarath, you know we don’t need anymore magic running around._

Without waiting for the mage’s response Arella turned to Cassandra. At the sick woman’s pointed look, she gave the matriarch her arm. The princess knew that they’d continue their conversation later, so she nodded at the mage and let Raven lead the way. 

Halfway to the Temple, Raven slowed until she was shoulder to shoulder with Cassandra. Her voice low, she added, “My Princess, if you could get Mother to the Temple I’ll go to get all the acolytes, have them start packing the essentials first.” She touched Cassandra’s hand, the corners of her mouth quirking up, “Make sure she doesn’t overexert herself. We’ll leave for Gotham once everyone is accounted for?”

The princess shook her head, _When you come back I’ll set parameters for the soldiers. We’ll have to send some more men to escort everyone safely. It’ll take a few marks… but Azarath will be safe._

Raven ran a thumb over the princess’ cheek, pressing a kiss to her temple as she pressed her nose into inky hair. “Gotham will be fine as well, _Stelara_.” Cassandra nodded, a heavy breath escaping as the mage kissed under her ear, “Slade, Cyclops, the Jester, it doesn’t matter… We’ll figure this out.” The fighter hesitantly nodded, a small smile curling her lips at the woman’s conviction. 

She raised her chin and pecked the mage’s cheek, motioning to where she knew the acolytes were packing. Raven squeezed her arm and turned to leave, “We _will_ stop them, my Princess. I promise.”

\--

High atop the mountain, a burly man lounged against a rock, softly rolling a golden ring in between his calloused fingers. The pyrope-filled engravings caught on his jagged nails and his lips curled, the move a toothy sneer more than a smile. His bottom lip was redder than its twin and his long teeth poked out along the top. He ran a hand through his white hair, the movement making the stench of garlic waft down and entangle with the smoke. That ruddy bottom lip was dry and painful as his sneer widened to what could be mistaken for a smile, tiny crackles of magic leaking out from under his fingertips.

Trigon paid no mind to the blazing flames that burned just below him or his cracking skin. Instead, he could only stare at the wispy smoke of incense that hovered over where Azarath currently lay, knowing that everyone there would be scrambling to evacuate. All the acolytes, all the Gotham soldiers, Arella…

Maybe Raven and Gotham’s princess were still there as well.

Trigon let out a sound halfway between a huff and a chuckle and turned his gaze northward, to where he knew Slade was weeding out the weakest of the Jester’s army. A red lip curled in disgust and the corners of his mouth split, tiny droplets creeping out at the thought of all of them. 

_Pathetic_ , each and every one. From Slade to the Jester and all in between. 

But, painful as it was to admit, he needed them. At least for now… Trigon glanced down at the cracks in his fingertips, knowing that they matched the ones on his toes. Under all this magic, his body was proving not nearly be strong enough. 

He would be one day very soon, but he had a long way to go.


	9. Not a Fan of This Uncertainty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Preparation comes with challenges.

Perched on an unconscious man’s back, the Harlequin casually sucked on a honeysuckle. Her sapphire eyes followed Slade as he practically _prowled_ through the camp, barking out orders and pairing fighters off. While his angry face was an unfortunately familiar sight, he also sported a new piece of jewelry on his middle finger: a gold ring, thinner than a string of twine. It gleamed as it caught the sunlight, the bright flash marking the one-eyed man’s route through the campground. 

He paused a few strides outside of a hastily cleaned clearing, watching as one of the fighters stumbled in his finishing blow. Furious, he barged in and whacked the man over his face, the gold ring on his finger leaving a bloody mark underneath his eye. Lazily busying herself with tracing the petals’ lines, Harlequin ignored his irate ranting and thought about how the next step in their plans would play out, especially with a blacksmith guild’s worth of weapons now at their disposal. 

So consumed in her thoughts it took a minute for her to notice the eyes boring into the side of her head. She turned, her blonde hair falling into her face before she brushed it aside, a chill rushing through her as she caught sight of red eyes. The Harlequin turned to stare back, too stunned, too disgusted to keep herself from gaping. 

Crimson irises, the white’s of his eyes tinged like a jaundice patient, and skin that desperately needed to be moisturized. He must’ve been crouched near the camp’s edge for at least a quarter mark, but she didn’t smell the acrid stench of garlic until their eyes met. Her nostrils flared and the Harlequin let her gaze flick to the Jester for just a moment; taking her hesitation as an invitation, Trigon stood to his full height and strode into the camp, his footsteps thundering despite the clash of metal as another pair of stablefreaks fought. 

One of the ex-convicts, a double murderer if she remembered right, stumbled up and over a haystack as Trigon passed. Slade turned his head to see what the distraction was and tensed, a vein in his neck bulging. 

He stormed up to the muscular man and seethed out his name, “Trigon.” His jaw set, everything about the cyclops screamed of his ire. But somehow, he kept his hands from forming fists and did not let any other emotion so much as cross his face. The uninvited visitor let his gaze flicker to the ring on Slade’s hand, but he stayed quiet. 

Troublingly quiet, even as Slade growled out, “Your presence is not needed here.” A hand stretched out, motioning to the controlled fights that had now paused, fearful of their confrontation. His good eye twitched and Slade glared at the lesser fighters, commanding, “Keep fighting!”

He whirled back to face Trigon, his neck turning red, “There is no reason for your--”

“Supervision.”

The crater where an eye used to be twitched. As one of the few people who can make Slade look up, Trigon loomed over the white-haired man, “And any common idiot can see the reason when you continue to dawdle like this, Slade.” On top of a haystack, the Jester leaned back on his palms, a lazy smile on his face as he took in the pure disquiet that had befallen the camp. His followers hovered in an awkward excitement, like unkempt children watching their abusive parents fight.

Especially with how Trigon’s anger slithered through the air, filling their lungs as he ranted, “King Wayne and all of his children are now headed back to the capital. Their talents and their informant’s talents have kept them one step ahead.” He snorted, looking the cyclops over, “Even if not all of them succeeded in finding out what they need to know. Those royals can do their jobs.”

He loomed over the man, crackles of magic flickering over his fingertips, “What’s your excuse, _Wilson_?” 

Keeping his voice steady, Slade growled, “You are too focused on results now. You’re too blind to see what I’m building!” He grabbed Trigon’s wrist and yanked him close, indignant enough to escort the man out himself.

“Now _go_! You’re only here because you can wait until all my plans fall into place!”

Pupils pulsing, Trigon bent his wrist, hissing into the man’s face, “I’m here because _you are failing_!” 

The stablefreaks shifted back, his quiet words as loud as a roar. Slade glared up at him, his jaw tense and his shoulders squared as he kept his face as blank as possible. He knew that Trigon noticed the imperfections: the way the vein on his forehead pulsed, how the scarred tissue where his eye once lay scrunched up, the nearly imperceptible flaring of his nostrils as he ignored the garlicky smell that filled the space. 

Slade was aware of all of it, so his lips tightened into a thin line as Trigon chatisted, “Nearly half a moon to simply _find_ who can fight? And you _still_ aren’t done yet!” 

Yanking his arm free, Trigon caught sight of the two bleeding men, meeting the gaze of the one nursing his darkening black eye. Deciding to make a spectacle of it all --men like Slade _never_ learned unless everyone was aware of their ineptitude-- he marched into their blood-soaked clearing. 

The bloodied man started crawling backward to avoid him, his boots noisily scuffing on the dirt. His opponent moaned in pain as his already broken hand was stepped on again and he curled up into a fetal position, exposing the marred skin of his stomach. Trigon glowered down at them, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the scars that crossed his stomach. 

Crouching next to the fallen man, he tugged and ripped the tattered shawl all the way off his body. Calculating eyes took in the carefully done, all-too-recently healed stitches, noting how they were deeper than needed and left a gnarled line of scars where the twine had crudely dissolved. Obviously the work of an actual, albeit harried medic, not just a criminal who got lucky with their sewing. 

He stood to his full height and glanced over the room, not attempting to conceal his snarl at how some cowered behind whatever objects they could. “Harlequin!” He boomed.

The blonde kept a hand on her hips, perched just above the machete that hung from her belt, as she walked onto the blood soaked clearing. A brow arched, she kept her pose as confident as possible, “Yes?” Try as she might, she couldn’t keep the corners of her lips from twitching down when Trigon yanked at the unconscious man’s leg, making his injuries stretch and drawing a pained screech. He twisted, still knocked out but horribly aware of his pain. 

Trigon's golden eyes focused on her, “This is your work?”

She nodded, her nails tapping against the machete’s handle. “And you’re also the one who spooked that old knight without starting a fight?” His gaze flicked to Slade, “Basically the whole reason we _had_ this quiet period with none of those Bats patrolling in our territory?”

The Harlequin glanced at the Jester and copied his grin, the insanity not quite reaching her eyes, “Right again.”

“So,” Trigon circled her like a shark, his pupils nothing but pinpoints in between his blood-red irises, “Wouldn’t you say that this failure of a moon was more on slow incompetence, rather than the situation not being manipulated exactly to our means?”

Slade clenched his jaw as he and Trigon both glowered at her, so she chose appeasing the greater of the two, “The long wait, particularly this currently _ongoing_ search to find fighters was this plan’s downfall.”

Trigon smiled at her answer, the sight horrifying. “I couldn’t agree with you more, Harlequin. What of you, Wilson?”

At his words the ring on the cyclops’ finger abruptly glowed white, as blinding as a blacksmith’s anvil. Slade’s face contorted and a scream roared out of him. The Harlequin jumped back at the sudden flash of heat, sapphire eyes widening as the one-eyed man fell to his feet, the ring blistering against his skin.

Shaking in pain and rage, Slade clawed at his hand but the ring stayed firm. Trigon smirked, unfazed by the odor of burning flesh, “Don’t bother trying to take it off.” The Harlequin noted that the sparks on Trigon’s fingers grew bigger, his fingertips cracking so badly she figured that he’d start bleeding. The yellow of his eyes were practically glowing as he crouched down until he was eye to eye with Slade, “You’ve failed to stop those pesky Waynes from hindering our progress.” 

He languidly stood back up, his shoulders squared and his voice booming as he forcefully met the blonde’s gaze. “Harlequin,” His words were a growl and she raised her chin. “You’re taking over our front lines.” 

Despite his pain Slade tried to stand; Trigon’s fists tightened and the ring glowed pure white. The cyclops curled up on the ground, howling as the blood in his finger turned to steam. Harlequin stared at him in horror even as Trigon addressed her again, “You’ll head the direct attacks from now on. And once his little ‘strategies’ start yielding results, _then_ he will aid you in immediate planning. Understood?”

She didn’t answer, her eyes wide and her mouth slightly agape. The stablefreaks weren’t doing much better, nearly all of them crowded together as they tried to stay out of Trigon’s range. When more than a second passed without her speaking, Trigon took a heavy step forward. The Harlequin instinctively stepped back, her hand clutching her machete again. “Understood,” She stiffly nodded at the intimidating man, standing up as straight as she could.

He sneered out a grin at her and turned back to Slade, letting the ring cool back to gold almost instantly. “You should know that failure is not an option that we have,” Trigon all but kicked Slade’s side with his boot, his words echoing throughout the camp as the ring started to glow again. 

“Now all of you! Back to work!”

The Harlequin wasted no time in backpedaling out of the clearing. She practically bumped into a haystack and stopped to take a deep breath in. The Jester seemed pleased at the chaos that had descended on the camp and ambled up to her, “Go find some of our strongest explosives, gotta prepare for another attack soon, eh?” His grin was blinding and the woman nodded, eagerly turning away from the scene of Trigon still looming over Slade. It wasn’t as gory as some of the aftermaths that she had seen before, but it was infinitely more gruesome.

Harlequin kept her gait steady as she strode to the camp’s edge. As she passed her fellow criminals by, they all kept their eyes to the ground; how much of that was because of her new clout and how much was because of the still lingering stench of burning flesh and how another of Slade’s screams rumbled in the air, she didn’t know. The _only_ thing she did know was that Slade was not the worse of their allies. Jester’s love of discord aside, they needed to stay as far away from Trigon as possible. 

Jumping over a log she disappeared into the woods, not turning back even as a _whap!_ preceded another grunt of pain and the Jester’s laugh filled the air. 

\--

With as precious as time was, Raven didn’t _want_ to slow them down. She didn’t want Cassandra to half to reign her stallion into a trot just so that she could keep up, but the mage couldn’t help herself. Pale fingers wiped over her cheeks, worried at the smudges of ash that came off on her skin. 

Arella and the soldiers seemed to have a handle on things when they left, but with the afternoon sky nearly black and the ash beginning to shower the ground, she was nervous. 

Nervous of the very real possibility that she wouldn’t get news of Azarath for at least another half moon. Nervous that the fire would consume the area and pollute the river. Nervous that Slade and the Jester would intercept her people before they got to safety. Nervous of what this attack meant for Gotham and how much danger the royal family were about to put themselves into. 

Nervous about the undercurrent of all too familiar magic that hovered just out of reach. 

So, the Azarathian repeatedly turned her head back to stare back at where Azarath lay, the pit of her stomach sinking when the now-black tipped roof of the Temple was finally hidden by the branches. 

Suddenly, the princess gasped and roughly stopped her horse, yanking on its reigns. The animal jolted, its tail flapping out as the sounds of hoofbeats clanged against the rocks. Raven’s mare reared in response, the mage almost falling off in surprise. Cassandra’s gaze flicked to her and she positioned herself in front of Raven’s view. 

Balancing on her thighs, the royal took stock of the scene in front of her, immediately recognizing the man and the familiar wrap of bandages around his middle. She raised her hand and solemnly warned, _Dead body_.

Pupils widening in surprise, Raven’s violet eyes betrayed her face’s stoicism. Her fingers fiddled with the leather straps, hesitant to ask _who_ the corpse was. Although, Cassandra's terse reaction meant she probably knew them, albeit shallowly. And on this route? It wasn’t too hard to guess. Instead, she sighed, “Slade’s men?”

The healer hoped that her worry didn't show in her voice, but knew that Cassandra would notice regardless.

Tan lips spread in a small smile, more for the mage's sake than her own; as much as she wanted to shield Raven from the horror of murder, both knew that time was the one thing they couldn't waste right now. 

Cassandra timidly signed, _Want to go together so you don’t see as much?_

Raven bit her lip and hesitated, shaking her head a moment later, “The river is rocky here… We don’t need any stumbles if I’m first.” She tilted her head in Azarath’s direction, keeping her face away from the body's direction, “I’ll go second. It’ll be fine.” 

Unconvinced, the princess raised her brows but glanced back at their informant. With his shirt ripped, it was obvious that the stab wound on his side was unchanged; he must not have gotten too far after they'd patched him up. But his knife was nowhere to be seen, that much was obvious even with the sky so dark and the air so smoky. 

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed and her jaw tensed. Soundlessly, she turned her weight and made her stallion turn, paying no mind to the cold water sloshing against her ankles as she crossed the river. 

Raven focused all her attention on the stallion in front of her, making sure that her mare copied his steps exactly. It didn’t stop her from seeing the roughly slit throat or the still-open eyes out of her periphery, but she was able to swallow the rising bile in her throat. Cassandra paused at the riverbank to watch her cross and met Raven’s worried gaze, not bothering to hide her concern, _Just stay as quiet as possible. We’ll take the long way and avoid them._

“Do you think they’re nearby?”

_No_ , The lines of the princess’ face were convinced at her unspoken words, _He’s been dead for at least half a day, give or take a few marks._

Raven’s cheeks paled at the news and her hands twitched again, her mind on Azarath. Half of a day was such a long time… Cassandra leaned across and touched her thigh before her thoughts could consume her, _They’ll be okay, but we really need to get going._

“I know that we’ll be hard pressed for help…” The mage started, her shoulders hunched a bit in preparation of a rejection, “But we’ll be able to send more soldiers once we get back to the Manor, right?”

The princess held the reigns in one hand and started her stallion. She considered their options as she knew them. _Not as much as you’d like_ , Cassandra pushed her horse to a trot and Raven followed her lead. Mahogany firmly met violet as they pushed their steeds to a gallop, _But there will be reinforcements. I promise._

\--

The Harlequin curled up on the edge of the farmland’s property, considering her options. Her sapphire gaze focused on the sole window of the little cottage, the light nearly eclipsed by the connecting barn’s looming shadow. A woman passed by the glass, her hair making the window flicker orange for just a moment. 

Sighing at the situation she now found herself in, her eyes shut and her forehead met her knees. Despite being the right-hand woman to a lunatic and criminal, Harlequin was _far_ from stupid; she knew that she would be allowed to hide out with her occasional lover, just as much as she knew that doing so would be disastrous from more than just as safety standpoint. She knew that she shouldn’t be here, the rural outskirts of Arkham were so far from the camp. How could she have ignored Trigon’s wishes! And _oh_ , judging by how harshly Slade had been disciplined, what would occur if she were to be discovered…

She was so impulsive, what could happen to Pamela?

Harlequin’s throat closed up at the thought and a surge of panic rushed through her. And despite the bushes of poison ivy and wood nettle that surrounded the farm, she knew that her staccato heartbeats couldn’t be soothed with any balm. 

The stench of garlic abruptly hit her and she sprung to her feet. A hand instinctively went to her side, the handle of her spiked morningstar frigid against her palm. Trigon stepped out of the shadows and strolled up to her, his face blank. “No need for weapons, Harlequin,” He drawled out.

Red eyes on the tiny square window, he didn’t react to the woman carefully regarding him, her weapon raised not even a stride away from his face. They stood in silence for a minute, each second ticking by agonizingly slow. Finally, her arm lowered. 

He turned to stare at the woman, the whites of his eyes nearly gold in the dark. Gaze flicking from the window to the plots of plants then back to her, he spoke into the air, “How fast acting is her poison?” 

Harlequin roughly shook her head, wiping the hair out of her eyes as she growled out, “Red doesn’t _make_ poisons.” Trigon turned to look at her and she tightened her grip on the morningstar at his calmness. 

Trigon lunged. Blonde hair went flying as he batted her weapon away, grabbing her by the throat in one smooth move. He yanked her until their noses nearly touched, coldly observing as her eyes watered and her nostrils scrunched at the overpowering stench of garlic hit her. 

Nails that should have scratched his skin merely bounced off, deflected by slivers of inky magic. Trigon paid no mind to her attempts to free herself, instead gazing back at the window again. He lifted her until the tips of her toes just barely rested on the ground. 

“You should know better than to lie to me.”

Had she not been struggling for air, the Harlequin would’ve noted that his hand wasn’t gripping as strong as it should’ve been, how the pain was more searing than crushing, how that very heat pulsed in tune with the magic haphazardly crackling at his fingertips. 

Unlike the blonde, Trigon was all too aware of those shortcomings; after a few long seconds, he sneered and tossed her down, one filthy boot roughly pinning her long locks to the ground. Keeping his foot steady, he crouched and reached for a leaf of poison ivy, uncaring as the Harlequin blindly reached for her morningstar, keeping her head as still as possible. 

“Don’t bother trying to attack me,” Trigon huffed, a hint of a smirk on his cracked lips, “Although I don’t know whether to be impressed or to pity you for thinking it’d do anything.”

The yellow of his eyes were shiny, his pupils impossibly tiny as he twirled the ivy in his fingers, watching as the magic consumed the little leaf until it withered to dust, coating his fingertips gray. He pulled out a dagger and let it drop harmlessly onto her stomach. 

Blue eyes flicked to his face, narrowing in suspicion. Trigon watched her for a moment, “You’re stronger than Slade.” He turned back to the barnhouse, taking in all the poison ivy that surrounded them. 

Hearing as her fingers slowly curled around the dagger, Trigon waited. 

The Harlequin did nothing. 

He nodded, “Smarter than him too.” Crimson eyes stayed trained on the house as he continued, “A man like Slade wants absolute power, to rule over as many countries as he can, but Slade… Slade is _weak_.” 

A beat as he wet his lips, the move futile against the dryness that was a part of him, “Tactical, I’ll give him that, but he goes at things too slowly. He could’ve attacked the capital by now. He _should’ve_ had those Waynes back on their heels and completely blind to everything.”

Shaking off his irritation, his gaze flicked to her form, now tightly coiled in the dirt, “They know about the fighting competitions now. And that he’s working with that Jester of yours. _Pathetic_ that he wasted his advantage like that.” He held her worried gaze, “But _you_ , miss Quinzel--” 

Her breath caught at the name. He ignored it, “You immediately wanted to be as far from me as possible, correct?”

The Harlequin said nothing. 

“You just wanted to hide out, maybe do _just_ enough to not draw too much attention until I finally got rid of Slade.” His chin tilted towards the barnhouse, “Maybe spend time with this farmer here.”

The woman roughly tried to sit up and clutched the dagger until her knuckles were white, “If you even _think_ about hurting her--” The heel of his boot twisted and she gasped out as her head was yanked back. She slammed back against the dirt and she blearily tried to blink the spots of pain out of her vision. As if she hadn’t interrupted, Trigon praised, “You left before I did. Planned out as much as you could while Slade took his discipline then bolted for the farmlands.” 

He flexed his fingers, feeling as the skin cracked loud enough for the blonde to hear, “Decisiveness is an unfortunate rarity when it comes to those we’ve made alliances with, wouldn’t you think?” Rolling his jaw, he stood to his full height and moved back, freeing her.

She kept the dagger in one hand as she clutched her morningstar, wearily rising to her feet. Swallowing thickly at the determination on his face, her eyelids squeezed shut. After a beat she growled out, “If I help you get whatever it is that you need, you won’t ever come back here?”

Trigon nodded, “That’s the deal. And I won’t let anything happen to your farmer, but I require the use of her crops first.”

Her shoulders sagging, the Harlequin let his dagger drop and tenderly massaged at her skull, “She stays safe no matter what?”

“As long as everything gets grown, yes.”

Nearly a minute of silence descended on them as the woman considered her options. Trigon stayed quiet, his lips curling at her definitive, “We’ll do it.” 

He began to walk to the barnhouse and stopped, the morningstar now held across his stomach. Ignoring his sneer, blue eyes narrowed and wide shoulders were tense. “No,” The Harlequin’s voice was firm, “You don’t need to get any closer. Just tell me what plants you need and I’ll give her the list.”

Trigon glowered but Harlequin stayed firm, a cocky grin sliding on her lips, “Thought you were glad that I wasn’t as weak as Slade.” She waved the weapon in a circle, letting one of the spikes prod his side, “This extra management isn’t and will _never_ be necessary.”

A rumble, almost a _laugh_ , gruffly rolled out of the man. “Almost as stupid as you are bold.” Both turned as the window turned orange, the farmer peeking out at them. The Harlequin tensed, sapphire eyes flicking to where she’d dropped the dagger. Trigon clicked his tongue and put a hand on his belt. 

Ignoring how the blonde tensed, he pulled out a small satin sack, holding the twine in between the tips of his still cracking fingers. When she lifted her arm Trigon dropped it in her palm, “Make sure all these seeds are grown. They grow fast and I need at least four generations’ worth.”

Crimson eyes flicked to the farmland spread out before them, “And as much poison ivy as she can grow.”

“What do you need it for?”

Trigon’s head shifted to face her and he glowered, his jaw squaring. The Harlequin’s smirk stayed frozen on her face, even as a shiver tap-danced down her spine, “Or should I not ask?”

“You’ve been useful so far, Harlequin,” He murmured, “Do not test me or you _will_ regret it. Understood?”

The blonde wearily nodded, her knees almost buckling in relief as he turned to make his way back from wherever he came, “Understood.”

**Author's Note:**

> The title isn't set yet, so if it changes I'll put it in the summary.


End file.
